


Caffeine Provider

by jetblacklilac



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: College AU, F/M, a teeny tine bit of good ol angst !, just a smudge of sadness, you won't even see it!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-04-25 10:10:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14376579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetblacklilac/pseuds/jetblacklilac
Summary: Sansa and Jon have known each other since they were children. Describing it as friends is a complicated (disappointing) term to use but what else is there to label them? Certainly not the secret thing they've been dreaming since they first met. In denial would be the perfect label, besides from the obvious...





	1. You're my Favorite Subject

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this out of pure boredom and to procrastinate in writing new chapters i hope its okay.....

Overachiever isn’t in her vocabulary even though anyone who knows of her would use that word for description. She knows how determined and diligent she is with her studies, spending almost all her time with her neck craned downwards and her nose buried in a book. She has received endless complaints from Margaery about how she needs a “change of setting”. Instead of just doing homework and essays weeks from their deadline and advance read chapters in their subject’s even back when they were in middle school.

Sansa carried this attitude throughout high school and now college. She informed her roommate she’d be returning late, maybe even a minute before the curfew for the essays she had to do on the European wars is such a heavy and vast burden. She spent an entire afternoon of a Saturday to have a head start so she wouldn’t be cramming at the last minute.

The reference books she utilized were thick in volume so she used the cart librarians have to return the books. Since it was past nine, the Main Library is essentially empty except for the staff that were stacking and coding the books back to their places. Squeaks of the cart wheels are the only sounds echoing in the spacious walls of the edifice.

When she was done, feeling satisfied, she strode to the exit only to notice there is another student with her here. He sat near the Historic section with the table lamp providing a halo of light and books spread around his laptop. His locks of ebony were messy mostly because he keeps on combing his hands through it. His posture was slacked and though she didn’t see his face, she’d recognize him anywhere.

“Jon?” Sansa tested with hesitance as she stopped by the head of the table.

He jumped and swung his attention at her. It was clear he too was studying for the circles beneath his eyes were darker, his face appeared exhausted, and his mouth curved at the sight before him. “Love, hey. You’re writing a draft for your essay too huh? Can’t say I’m surprised.” He muttered and his hand tapped rapidly against the table’s surface.

“I can help.” Sansa volunteered. She could see the frustration marked on the notes he scribbled on his notepad. His penmanship was always messy but the loops on his words are more curved than usual. And perhaps he has spent hours in here, without her knowing, he didn’t seem to be satisfied with his essay.

“Sure yeah. I’ve been here all afternoon my head is swimming.” Jon breathed and pulled up a chair beside him and patted the space.

His topic varied from hers but his books for resources are definitely fitting and informative. She meticulously compared and scanned the parts of the paragraphs so they are in line with the intent of the authors. She reread his essay multiple times to check if the flow of ideas, arguments, and correct use of quotes from his sources. It felt like hours whenever she does this.

“Everything seems fine except I wrote a separate conclusion for you just in case you need it.” Sansa offered. She twisted her head to find Jon staring at her with a soft expression. Soft and Jon shouldn’t be in association with each other but there can’t be any other words to describe his look for her.

“Did you knit this sweater? It looks very comfy.” Jon inquired with a hum and he trailed his fingers down her arm, grazing the fabric of the said sweater.

It was an activity she didn’t know she would enjoy but seeing as how she had limited choices in their winter vacation, knitting felt like the best and most relaxing option. She would spend at least two hours each day, learning the techniques and patterns. She has evolved so much with this skill that she ventured on even if this isn’t an alibi to avoid Jon anymore.

“Yes. I can knit shirts and gloves.” Sansa answers and she closes the books surrounding his silver laptop in a half circle. And she begins to stack them.

Jon’s fingers continued to play around with the rough surface of her sweater. It wasn’t anything extraordinary. She combined colours of bubble gum violet and gold together in cross stitches. It has been able to withstand time since it has been two years since she made this sweater. “Why don’t you knit me one? I want a handmade sweater too.” He pouted and fluttered his lashes in an exaggerated manner.

She narrowed her eyes. “Jon, you can buy exclusive sweaters anytime. I don’t think you’d want my lumpy knitted things to warm you up.” She countered. What was his angle here? Perhaps he’d want her to spend all those times to make him something only for him not to wear it. Or worse, let some dame wear it when they’re on a date; the insult it would be for her.

“You can too but you knitted this lovely sweater. Come on, love.” He begged and their essays were long forgotten. A subtle smile is on the corners of their mouths. They have expressions that have been painted on their faces since they met. It is normal for them to have deep fondness for each other.

 _He has a good point._ Sansa grumbled in her thoughts. She didn’t mind the wandering hand of Jon, stroking abstract patterns on her arm and plays with the end of the sleeve at her wrist. “I have to buy the material, choose the colours, and it’ll most likely take a month to finish. This took two months for me to finish.” She proposed with a stern voice that disappeared at the genuine smile on his face. It was always rare in witnessing Jon smile and not out of mocking or acting as a flirt; but one of lightness and veneration.

“We’ll have to spend an awful amount of time together. Can Harry handle that?” Jon wondered.

Sansa stared at Jon with a frown. “He doesn’t say a word whenever we have joint vacations. I’m sure knitting sessions won’t be a problem for him.” She dismissed in certainty. _Harry won’t care even if I’ll kiss Jon right in front of him._ Her nerves sparked at that notion. She pushed it away as Jon indicated he was about to speak once more.

But the slap of thick books against their table made Sansa squeak and it made her hold Jon’s hand in fright. The elderly librarian stood over them, her grey like hawk eyes glowered intensely at them. “You two, stop whispering like schoolgirls and doing funny business! Go back to your dorms or I’ll report you to your deans!” She snarled and pointed the other end of the ruler to each of them. “And leave the books. I’ll handle them. Just get out its closing time!”

“We are so very sorry, ma’am.” Sansa stuttered as she rose from her seat and Jon slid his laptop in his messenger bag and slung it on his shoulder. “Let’s go, Jon.” She urged and tugged at their interlaced hands; not aware they were still holding hands.

They walked in the late evening chill of the winds. The campus is virtually empty except for them and a few students still strolling around the pathways connected in various buildings of the campus. She looked down to see what was warm on her hand and realized they held hands. She snatched her hand away and though Jon didn’t react, she caught a tiny clench on his jaw.

Checking on his glowing watch, it was about fifteen past ten. Thankfully, her parents rented a nearby apartment she and Margaery can stay in. Margaery insisted she pay what she can with the rent even though her parents continue to pay and there isn’t much to contribute. But Sansa’s parents accept her payment to assuage Margaery’s guilt somewhere else.

“Let’s get a cup of coffee, doll. I think the uni café is still open; caters to all crammers. Luckily, we are not.” Jon offered and jerked his head to the west side of the square.

The offer dangles in front of her; a temptation she knew better than to take as bait. Her parents would indignantly reproach her about how the answer is forming in her mind; how improper it would be to spend a few hours with a man who is not her boyfriend.

“That is a nice payment for basically giving you an improved grade for your essay.” She said with a light smile, earning a laugh from Jon and a shake of his head. _We’re friends. We’ve been friends since we were fourteen. This isn’t a rendezvous._ She repeated the mantra in her head as she ambled next to Jon. Her worries are eradicated as they put more distance between them and the library.

 He opens the door and the strong aroma of brewing coffee invaded her senses. Lights are strung along the wooden beam and support the shop; lanterns are suspended from the ceiling. Scattered wooden chairs and are placed near polished oak tables are all around the café with students, bent down with books and laptop, coffee cups all strewn on their tables.

“You get us a table and I’ll order our drinks.” Jon murmured.

“Jon, do you even know what I order in coffee shops?” Sansa quipped with a quirk of her eyebrow.

He rolls his eyes. “You always have café Americano with an extra shot of espresso and double if we’re on our exams. Once we even had triple and that was on our finals last semester; that was a fun experience.” He answers and taps the tip of her nose, chuckling when she scrunched it.

She arranged her bag and lightly glared at him. “You got lucky.” She muttered in defeat. There was no point in pretending they are not intoned to each other because they know each other in such a level Sansa wouldn’t dare delve in.

“Yeah no, I’ve been in your study group and coffee is always my currency to pay. Now get your sweet ass on a vacant table, doll.” Jon dictated and went in line with the other customers to the counter. He mindlessly stroked the small of her back with his thumb yet it was a swift movement Sansa didn’t have the time to swat his hand away.

 _I don’t even have a study group. You just barge in my apartment with your notes and you plead for me to teach you._ Sansa said in her thoughts with bewilderment. She turned and her face flushed at how most of the students were blatantly gazing at them with renewed interest.

 How odd this sight must be to people who don’t know their history? They only know of Jon’s reputation and that fact doesn’t add up to how casual they acted with physical touches and hanging out in the uni coffee shop late in the night. And what if some of them knew she is in a relationship and they dared to connect the dots that aren’t even there.

She made a bee line at the table near to the counter, her hands fidgeting with the cuffs of her sweater. It wasn’t long before Jon walked over to where she sat. She felt the stares intensify as Jon slid over her coffee and he quietly takes a sip of his. She couldn’t touch the drink now.

“Why are you so tense? Do you want me to get you sugar or that half-something milk over there?” Jon fretted as he places his cup down.

Sansa sat rigid in her seat and she glanced around to find only a few girls were still throwing curious glances at them. “I-people can see us.” She whispered as though the distance between them and the spectators can be filled with her words.

He laughed; a nervous one because Sansa still wore a serious look. “Well we’re not exactly invisible.” He emphasized by poking his arm.

She took a small sip of her coffee and the bitterness is welcoming for it alarmed her nerves. “What I mean is with your, um, reputation, won’t people talk of this? That you’re out with a girl having coffee late at the night? The rumour mill will be running tomorrow.” She gestured to the both of them with agony.

Talks are always dangerous to one’s reputation as her parents have told her countless of times. It weakens the resolve people have for a certain person, trust is lost and it will take forever to rebuild what had been lost. Though the derivation of the idea gossiping is horribly inferior, it also stems out of the Bible, the very religious symbolic their family hold dear to their hearts.

It took a moment before what she said settled in his mind. He scoffed and took another sip of his drink. “Fuck what they think. We’re here because of coffee. You shouldn’t care what other people think of us.” He hissed. It was peculiar for him to have such a view on reputation for Sansa knows his quite well.

_Us? What are we?_

She grew tired of speculating this question since she was fifteen and gave up.

“That is hilarious coming from a beloved athlete and ladies man.” Sansa retorted and took more sips of her bitter coffee. He has the known popularity and for him to merely wave it away is ludicrous. After all, how can he be invited to elite frat parties and woo whomever he wants if people didn’t know him?

He leaned forward on his seat. Vaguely, from the corner of her eye, Sansa could see some girls mimic his actions. “I really don’t give a shit if they see us, princess. And you shouldn’t care too.” Jon said with a bite of edge on his words. He slumped on his chair and tipped his head so he’ll get to drink more of his coffee.

She doesn’t truly understand his apathy to gossip since their whole lives. They’ve been taught to abide by social etiquette, make sure they aren’t the talks in any afternoon teas and they rightly uphold the family name. Yet here they are, doing the exact opposite.

She feared what the repercussions are if their parents found out. What was it about Jon that made disobedience appealing like some forbidden dessert? The cherry on top of this alluring dessert is how she doesn’t feel like she’s breaking any rules. They’re each other’s downfall.

“I know your coffee order.” Sansa mumbled, hesitant and worried because his playful attitude melted away and is replaced with grim irritation. She only got an arched brow, a dare to venture on the bridge to overcome the troubling waters. “You always order café latte with extra shot of espresso whether or not we have our exams. Though I know when it is cold you like to drink frappe mocha with hazel nut syrup.” She informed him with one breath.

It took several seconds of Jon merely staring at her, surprise so clearly written on his agape mouth and his eyes slightly widened. A sweet smile curved his mouth and she knew his previous mood slipped right back in.  “Why, I’m so flattered you know me so well.” He teased. They both laughed; careless and gleeful in ways they shouldn’t be.

“You’re so easily pleased, Jon.” Sansa bantered with a playful tone. The kind she reserves only for the man across of her, laughing and exceedingly at east in her presence.

He briefly bit his lip and eased on his seat. “I always am when it comes to you. Just give me a smile and a joke there and I’m on the floor, love.” He bantered; his face glowed with the lights that are strung along the beams of the shop and on the walls. One could say he glows because of his company.

 _Honestly…_ Sansa shyly thought. Years of enduring these types of jokes should’ve made her impervious to them. But oh no, each time he jabs with it, she’s taken back with a racing heart. She said nothing but her flaming cheeks said more than what she could’ve spluttered in response. She smiles at him, bright. “You have such low standards then.” She squeaked.

“I’d go down for you, doll.” He said in an undertone, smirking in satisfaction at her astonishment.

She carefully placed her coffee cup on the leather coaster and she avoided Jon’s triumphant look he would surely have. “ _Jon._ ” She hissed and did a quick survey of their surroundings to find no one was paying attention to them anymore. But if they had, anyone would observe how blushing and shy she is as to Jon, who was positively glowing with pride. Friends wouldn’t be their first thought.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” He jested even more and he drank his coffee with a self-assured smile on his mouth.

“I think the caffeine is getting to you. Let’s leave so you can annoy your roommates and not only poor me.” Sansa decided and stood up, holding her half-finished coffee. Being near such a tempting thing, for Jon to say things like these, it always activates her flight senses. Because she isn’t quite sure what would happen if they stayed in this conversation a second longer.

Jon pouted and stood up as well. “You’re no fun anymore. Being in a relationship makes a person boring, huh?” He teases with a quirk of his brow. His hand returns on the spot of her back once more, much to the interest of their spectators. It appears to be an unconscious action that neither cared about. And this, amongst the other evidence, sparked more intrigue.

“It does not. You just haven’t met the right person. And if you do, being tied down doesn’t sound so bad.” Sansa advised and it was a comic situation for her to lecture her friend about this land mine of a topic. Resentment could be coating her words but Jon doesn’t know the turmoil brewing in her chest so he didn’t detect it in time.

“And have you?”

“Have I what?” She hummed.

“Have you found the right person and tying down doesn’t sound so bad?” Jon used her words against him. He arched a brow, intrigued and almost desperate to hear her answer. His eyes roamed on her nervous affect, something that is deemed as an answer for him already.

Sansa looked around. She also realized they were still standing near their table, students and even the staffs are throwing glances their way. Perhaps because Jon has his hand on her back and they’ve been there for almost an hour, just chatting and joking around. “We should go now.” She said instead and together, they exited the coffee shop, knowing there’d be talk of this later in the day.

Jon drove her to the apartment complex. Sansa pleaded for about fifty times, explaining it is merely two blocks from the campus and a stretch of limbs wouldn’t be so bad. She nearly mentioned how Harry doesn’t mind her walking in the streets even later than ten at night. But she knew better than to give Jon more reasons to complain of her boyfriend other than having too perfect hair.

He shook his head at her reasoning. “Our parents would give me hell if they found out I let you walk alone in this night. Plus, it’s snowing particularly hard tonight.” He countered and hurriedly pushed her to the direction of where he parked his car.

 _Jaguar,_ he would correct her whenever she intentionally used its general term instead of its exclusive brand. Once when their parents visited the newly renovated vacation house Mother directly supervised, their parents insisted they join them in brunch. So Jon picked her up in the apartment with a sleek car. And he frowned when she used that term.

“Honestly, little love, sometimes I swear you do things only to hurt me. I’d rather you give the Jaguar respect because without it, we can’t go to your vacation house.” He huffed but his resolve soften at hearing her laugh; an amused sound that she usually would push down at the sight of him.

A shake of her shoulder and Sansa is snapped out of her little memory. She turned her neck and saw the pristine building on her right. By the rear view mirror, she was smiling and her mouth fell on a flat line at that realization.

“Thank you Jon. And I supposed you’ll just barge in my apartment when it is time for you to cram again?” Sansa stated with a clear tone that he would definitely do it. She unclipped her seat belt and twisted her body to have more space to stare at him.

He took out a ringlet of keys out of his pocket and shook them. “Your dad gave me spare keys to your apartment last week.” He deviously said with a grin that matched his voice. “I must say, even though you excel academically it’s a pity they don’t trust you outside of the classroom.” He provoked and jingled the keys once more.

Without breaking eye contact, she too displayed a ringlet of keys. “Your mother gave _me_ spare keys to your apartment as well. Same goes to you, Jon.” She said with triumphant clear in her voice. The silver light of the night washed over their faces and the smiles appeared much softer.

Sansa almost didn’t want to exit Jon’s car. She could stay here for as long as she wants, listen to him sing along to songs in a horrible voice that would make her laugh for hours. She could ignore the trouble that awaits for her with Harry the impending gloom hovering over her for some time now. Perhaps they can even drive away from the campus and everyone else. It isn’t like they needed anyone but them.

“You should go now. Get the beauty rest you don’t really need.” He murmurs and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

Sansa nearly rejected this soft demand. She wanted this bubble to last a little longer, where her troubles aren’t gnawing on her time, and she can be at ease for a second longer. An image of Harry came barrelling in her mind, grinning and his hair like sunshine, and she knew guilt would be the next to follow.

She scrambled out of the car and shyly waved at the disappear Jaguar, slowing decreasing until it was a mere ink blot on the road. Staring at the empty entrance, a guard snoring at the reception, she shook her head. _What was in that coffee?_


	2. The Ice Melts In Your Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas break brings eggnog, drunken ramblings one wouldn't say sober, and much more confusion in the mix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not changing the ending. i just thought i needed to add more because i feel like there's so much here that isn't said. please tell me how you think of this

Sansa wakes up in the morning and not realizing it is their Christmas break. Outside her window, the snow has compiled even more so that it’s almost a foot high with flakes of it dancing in the air. She snatched a thick sweater from a chair and slipped it on. Walking to the kitchen, she witnesses Margaery running around the kitchen, singing a Christmas song, as she sprinkles marshmallows on what appears to be hot cocoa.

“My, someone’s festive.” She chirped and sat on a metallic stool.

Her best friend donned a matching sweater as her, seeing as how Sansa knitted them matching sweaters last year. She slid two plates of waffles with cookies of a beautifully decorated Christmas tree and two mugs of hot coco. “Well, after a stressful term, I’d like to delegate my energy to something more enjoyable.” She replied and munched on her cookie. “I didn’t bake this by the way. Our neighbour gifted us a basket of it; something about missing her gran kids and we look exactly like them.”

Sansa took a thick slice of her brunch before answering. “That is saddening but her cookies are spectacular. Maybe we should give her something.” She said with worry of their elderly neighbour. She then took a sip from the ceramic mug and moaned at the deliciousness that flooded her mouth. “This is so delectable, Marg!” She complimented and drank more and ate more. She didn’t recall a time wherein she ate this much. “So, when is your flight back to Highgarden?” She questioned.

Sansa has been to Margaery’s hometown and vice versa. She loved how festive, authentic, and served as an amazing food trip her town was. She recalled spending days lost in the booths, and the ancient charm of the city. If her schedule of Harry and school didn’t occupy her time, she’d book the next flight there with her best friend for the holidays.

Margaery poured an avalanche of syrup on her pile of waffle, creating two layers of the syrup as it pools on the bowl. “Oh it’s in two days and I guess I have to pack but right after I finish this.” She took sips from her mug. “What about you? What time will you go to the Austria again?”

The groan of the door as it was being opened startled the girls. From the extent of their knowledge, they didn’t invite anyone at this early of a Friday. There weren’t any classes today and the help who usually clean up won’t be at their doorstep until tomorrow. With suspense filled minutes, they watched as a figure emerged from the corner of the living room.

She wanted to sigh at how it was only Jon. He wore appropriate winter clothing with leather jacket, a thick scarlet scarf on his neck and jeans with sneakers. He swiped his eyes on their surroundings before landing his attention on them with a grin. “Ah, I see you only woke up, princess. Your hair is a mess.” He greeted and strode to them with normalcy. And it is. At times, he walks in their apartment in the season of examinations.

“Good afternoon to you too, Snow.” Sansa and Margaery chorused coolly and retained their questioning looks as he sat next to her, inspecting her food.

Margaery displayed her distaste for the scene in front of her by frowning at them. “I know the door is still locked, Jon. You could’ve just knocked and not pick our locks.” She demanded and pointed the butter knife to him.

He raised his hands in mock surrender but it was Sansa who answered for him. “Father doesn’t trust me. He probably thinks Harry stays here all the time.” She dismissed in a somewhat bitter tone that garnered both of their attentions.

“Wait, why aren’t you guys moving in already? It’s been what, a decade since you guys dated. Surely that’s sufficient time to you know, take things to the next level or some shit.” Jon chimed in as he took a sip from her mug of hot coco.

Sansa tightened her grip on her spoon a little tighter. The answer falls heavy on her tongue, flooding her mind with angst this early in the afternoon. The consequences of admitting it, making her dilemma known to him would be irrevocable. “How would you know when the right time is? You haven’t dated anyone longer than half a year.” She spat out and sliced herself a portion of her waffles, disregarding the slight shocked expression from the target of her words. Margaery kept her focus trained on this interaction.

Jon acted as though he wanted to say something scathing enough to burn her skin but decided against it. He got a hold of her hot coco and brought the mug’s brim on his mouth. He smacked his lips in satisfaction. “This is good. Anyways, I’m here because I’ll join Mother for brunch too and she wants me to ask you if we’ll have a joint flight to Austria. I mean it’s first class for sure but she doesn’t mind delaying a day more for us to pack.”

“I won’t be going.” Sansa answered, uneasily and guilt crept along her veins. The bomb of news last night and the bubbling excitement erased the idea of informing Lyanna.

It appears he didn’t comprehend her words. “’Course you will and this time, I will teach you to ski and beat your pretty ass at it, princess.” He nonchalantly says with a laugh.

She twists on her stool to him but mindful so their knees won’t touch. “Jon, I won’t go because I’ll be spending the holidays with Harry’s family in Chamonix-Mont-Blanc. It’s in France. I already told my parents and they gave me permission.” She supplied her plans in the next few weeks.

 There was a subtle tone of dread and anxiety that leaks in the spaces of her words. Spending time with his family and dining with them are two exceedingly different activities. Yet, she is determined to be likeable for a longer future with her boyfriend.

Jon gazed at her with well-disguised shock. She isn’t quite sure what his initial reactions are. But she figures it is disgust for how steady her relationship is and he can’t fathom doing the same thing with whomever he’s dating. Or in the condition Jon even uses that term in his life. He shifts on his seat. Margaery giddily observes them as though she is watching a cinematic scene unfurl in front of her.

“So you’re saying you’re choosing dick over family this year?” He drawled out with modulated annoyance. His mouth had a hard line on it, his eyes narrowed, and his hands are fisted on his jean clad knees. His spine is much more rigid than she’s ever seen.

Sansa’s mortified expression catalysed Margaery to be in a laughing fit. She nearly spat out her warm drink all over the marble top of their kitchen table; not that the two would notice as usual their bubble thickened around them. She wiped the corners of her mouth and enjoyed the theatre that is the duo each time they converse.

“His parents invited me. I couldn’t deny their request!” She defended her decision. But she couldn’t understand why he is staring at her as though she slaughtered someone in front of him. “I’m sorry that I won’t spend time with Lyanna. I’ll give her a call tonight and say I’ll attend her New Year’s Eve party like I do every year. Honestly, I will not miss it Jon.” She vowed with firmness of tone.

She knew how much he loves his mother with the little to no evidence he has. What other reason would there be for his outburst? Perhaps he dreads the disappointment his mother would at not spending time with her. Sansa too felt saddened she wouldn’t have as much time with Lyanna as she normally would. But being with Harry’s family is an upgrade from using Face Time each other from their vacation spots.

He bobbed his head. “Whatever. Don’t be too bored there.” He murmured in a flat tone. The colour in his eyes is paling and his mouth forming a shadow of a frown if she was keen enough.

“Do you want waffles? There’s more at the stove.” Sansa offered. She nearly lets her hand rest on his shoulder but resisted on this instinct and instead took another sip from her mug.

He slid away from the stool and shook his head. “Nah, I should probably go. Happy holidays to you ladies. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll see you later princess.” He says and bids them with a wave and stomps over to the door and leaves with a soft click of the door.

The girls stared at each other, processing the information, before Margaery got up and slid more waffles on their plates.

“Your friendship with Jon is so weird.” Margaery broke the silence. She glanced up from her fresh plate of breakfast to note Sansa is merely staring at hers.

Absurd is definitely the accurate description for them. Anything else would either be unrealistic or derived from her fantasies. “Jon would say the exact same thing.” She laughed.

The artist tilted her head to one side, entertained by the conscientious words her best friend has uttered. “And what would you say?” She asked, intrigued like everyone else. With the years of witnessing their banters and jokes only they knew the context of, she has the same question as the rest of the busy bodies. But no one dares to say a word of it. If Jon knew, there would be hell to pay for sure or he’d be offended by the allegations.

“Marg, we’re not even friends. We’re just bounded by the friendship of _our_ parents. If our parents didn’t know each other, we’d be worlds away from each other.” Sansa tiredly explained. Why can’t people see they aren’t anything at all? There isn’t malice in their intentions for each other. And if there is, she would’ve known because they have been circling in the same routine for nearly a decade now.

Margaery nods. “But your parents do know each other and you both are in the same small world.” She put forth a logical point. She sliced through her pile of waffles but didn’t stray her curious eyes from her best friend, struggling to come up with a rebuttal.

“How is it I’ve been the president of our high school’s debate team and yet I can’t argue about this?” Sansa wondered with an airy laugh. She knew full well she couldn’t divert the attention away from her non-existent answer anymore. “I, I better call Lyanna and talk to her.” She said, excusing herself from the table. And ultimately away from the question she tries not to think of each night.

“One more question.” Margaery whispered, reluctant.

She drank form her mug and nodded. Her tone made her nervous. What could be the question be about this time? If it is about Jon, her mind is in conflict already, she didn’t need more arguments and turmoil.

Her best friend straightened her posture, her light brown eyes hardened like amber, and her pink mouth puckered in a frown. “You said Harry’s parents invited you. Why Harry himself didn’t invite you? I mean this is a huge step for you guys. The least he can do is initiate it and not for mommy and daddy to do it for him.” She pondered and her assessment for Sansa’s reaction is ardent.

Sansa squirmed in her seat, the answer taunting her thoughts to near insanity. She stared at her hands, trembling whether from the cold afternoon or from the anxiety, she’d rather not know. _She’s your best friend, darn it. I’m sure she has suspicions as well but can’t voice it out. I’m so protective of Harry and his actions._ She agonised in her head, her front teeth taking captive of her bottom lip.

“Maybe it was his parents’ idea.” She mumbled, but her soft voice echoed in the kitchen, sad and subdued. She cuts a slice of her waffles and nibbled on it. The pathetic excuse left a bitter taste on her mouth and she figured she needed something sweet to wash it away with.

Margaery is, infuriatingly, more intrigued. “So, Harry wouldn’t think of inviting you with his family? Bambi, this is getting worse. Aside from the _most_ obvious fact, it appears he doesn’t want to take it further.” She softly reasons. Her words curve from the most blatant manner and ease Sansa into the logic of it all.

“It only appears that way. Speculations won’t get us anywhere.” Sansa grounded out. She dearly wanted to walk away with the means of terminating any further questions from the artist. But she knew that rash action would increase the assumptions brewing in Margaery's mind and her exit would be evidence to her claim.

“Ask him then why he didn’t invite you.” Margaery stated in such nonchalance as though Sansa didn’t think about it herself. That night she received the phone call, those words danced at the tip of her tongue and maybe that is why she bites it as she and Harry’s parents made plans.

Sansa narrowed her eyes. “You’re being ridiculous. I can’t ask that of him.” She flippantly answered; sliding off the stool ad her hands clutched the plate and mug. Avoiding the burning gaze of the insistent artist, she slides her empty plate on the sink and consumes the remaining hot coco in the mug.

“You’re scared to know.” Margaery wisely countered with a quirked brow and her left cheek rounded with the waffles she’s still eating.

If she is to affirm Margaery’s accusation, there would be more on this topic. Sansa would very much move mountains so this can be avoided. “I already know.” She muttered quite bitterly. A hint of her thoughts but it was more of a magnifying glass for her inquisitive friend.

Margaery’s eyebrows furrowed nearer each other in bafflement. She placed her fork beside the  crumbs of the waffles that glistened with the syrup. “You know the answer and the facts supporting it. Come on, bambi, it’s-you have to talk to him!” She pleaded and walked up to Sansa, her eyes fragile.

“Breakup with him you mean.” Sansa hissed and her fingers flexed on the mug. Her chest heaved heavy breaths at even uttering the words. She clenched her jaw for a few seconds, Margaery merely staring at her. Though ire burned through her veins, her voice sounded small and helpless. What else can a cornered animal do?

“If that’s what talking would lead to then yes. It’s been months, bambi. The girls look at you with so much smugness. I want to smack them each time I see those damn airheads!” Margaery exclaimed and threw her hands in the air. Her words bouncing on the walls and the silence fell heavy.

She observed how her hands trembled at this proclamation. Carefully, she slid the mug down on the sink, her heart thundering in her chest. “I, I can’t. You _know_ this. I’ve told you a hundred times how impossible the solution is.” Sansa brokenly pleaded. Her face scrunched up in such gloom a heartless person would wipe the tears away. She circled her arms on her waist, her gaze lowering on the smooth floor.

Margaery wounded her arms around Sansa and rested her cheek against her best friend. She patted the cosy sweater and sighed. “I know but I don’t want to stop. Maybe if Jon knew he’d annoy you too. Lord knows how he hates Harry. Or he’d punch Harry square in the face. That is something I will pay good money for.” She cheered and she leaned away, small smiles and sparkles in their quiet laughter.

“Jon wouldn’t care, Marg. He’d taunt me on how I can’t keep a man on my bed. Oh, he’d never let this up.” Sansa laughed. Her long-time acquaintance would probably tell his squad too, mocking about her and then act completely civil at the dinner parties.

“I’m sure you both care for each other in your own way.” Margaery hums as they amble to the living room.

Sansa retrieved her phone from the coffee table. “I care for him not to.” She answered without a second of hesitation. “Excuse me, I need to call Lyanna.” She stated and drifted off to her room to the sounds of an action movie; gun shots booming and a woman cursing in French.

The phone call composed of Sansa profusely apologizing to Lyanna; she promised the older woman she’d buy her gifts and that she will most definitely make it to her annual New Year Eve’s party at their lake house. Lyanna accepted her proposal.

“Darling, I understand! Honestly, this is such a huge step for you both. I am so excited about this. The moment we fetch you, tell us everything that happened!” Lyanna says with a charmed voice and a smile in her words. “Oh you’ll have them spellbound in no time. Remember, be yourself. That’s how you got their son.” She advised her.

The days flew by and the next thing she knew, she’s arrived in a plane to France. Harry’s parents were exceedingly amiable and accommodating to her. Since their cabin is one of the most luxurious ones available, his parents directed the couple to their bedroom. Blaring theme of ruby, gold, and pecan brown greeted them. A king sized bed that had canopy posters. Its pillows and sheets are drenched in crimson. The room is quite spacious; a large television screwed on the tall, they had a private bathroom, and a walk-in wardrobe.

Though Sansa tried not to show it, she was nervous. She and Harry haven’t slept in the same bed for well, she can’t even recall. The longest time she spent a night at his place or him at hers is a night. She doesn’t stay for days or purposefully leaves her things at his place. She figures if Harry wants her to move on, they’d discuss it.

So far, nothing has progressed in her subtle plan.

Days passed and the Hardyng and she spent them on participating in their resort activities. The activities Harry approved of anyways.

Her first night abroad with her boyfriend, she dined with his parents, uncles, and cousins. Their tables in the restaurant were the noise ones, ringing with talks and laughter. After the initial inquire of her presence, Sansa barely contributed to the loquacious air. She ate and laughed at their antics. But her cheeks went numb and her laugh is airy.

She couldn’t help but compare this dinner to the ones the Jon hosts. The routine party she attends with Jon and his family is far much cosier. She has known the Jon all her life meanwhile the society she’s surrounded by right now are strangers. Names pinned on faces didn’t help the transition of friendship.

Whenever she’s in an unfamiliar dilemma, she either has Jon or Margaery. The former when they are trapped in strange galas and new classes, he often lightens their situations. Once, when they had the tour in Columbia he, without Sansa’s prompting, held her hand. It was a feeling she won’t forget. His touch was soothing against her palm and never had she felt more at eased since then. He reasoned that he didn’t want her to get lost in the vast campus. Jon committed to this act all throughout the day, swaying between them, and not an ounce of awkwardness was felt.

In her naïve years before Harry, she fawned over this small action for months. After all, he is the only tangible source of comfort she has known before college. Oh how she yearns to hold Jon like an anchor at that dinner.

The next day, Sansa sat at the edge of the bed, hair flowing, her legs crossed. She scans through the laminated itinerary, one particular lesson caught her attention. Skiing lessons, she thought with a smile.

Just in time, Harry walks in, she counted two wool knitted sweaters, a scarlet scarf on his neck; a scarf that she herself made for him.

“There’s a skiing lesson an hour from now. And it isn’t far from here.” Sansa informs her boyfriend with an excited beam.

Yet the blonde frowns. “Princess, I’m sorry. I made plans with my cousins. We were going hiking.” He says in a mournful tone and plants a kiss on the top of her head. He sits next to her, his hand crept on the nape of her neck, massaging the skin there. “My parents are having a wine testing in a while. Maybe you should join them.” he suggested.

She pushed down her frustration. For the past three days, Harry has blatantly ignored her in  the midst of his family. Sure they were his family but the least he could’ve done is made her comfortable around them. _Maybe he truly doesn’t want me here._ “Perhaps I could join you and your cousins.” She countered, subtle in her desperation.

He sighed. “The mountain is too high and rough for you because you’re inexperienced. I’d rather you be here safe, okay? I promise we can go skiing tomorrow.” He vows. Perhaps there was glittery magic in his voice because Sansa’s anger vanished.

Sansa understood Harry wanted time with his family. “Okay, I’ll find them then.” She said with a small smile. She felt nervous at spending time with his parents, alone. If only Harry would find it in him to ease her anxiety, but he appears excited with hiking so she exits their bedroom with a heavy heart.

The wine tasting was exquisite. Sansa adored Harry’s parents and the wines were imported, delectable, and her head lightly swam in her muddy thoughts. After dinner, Sansa settled on their heavenly bed, laptop on her lap, and her phone sitting on her palm. The clock that sat on the tableside told her it was well ten in the night.

Harry hasn’t returned from his hiking. Disappointment welled in her throat but she pushed it down. He’s enjoying himself; she reminded herself when she found the greed of his time consuming hers. But aren’t they supposed to enjoy each other’s company? They are abroad for Christmas.

“He’ll need to sleep some time.” She muttered. The silence of the room is somewhat loud but her thoughts are louder. Her thumb swipes on the phone’s screen and the next second, Margaery picked up her call.

_Bambi?_

“Hey.” Sansa whispers. She pushes the silver laptop and curls on herself, knees brushing her chin, the strands escaping her messy bun tickling her cheeks. “How’s Highgarden?” She questions.

There were loud conversations in posh accents. Luckily, Sansa understood and the topic was about dinner. Margaery is out with her family and here she was, calling her best friend all because of the empty space on her side. “I-I’m sorry I’m disturbing you.” She quickly muttered.

_Nah, you’re not disturbing me! Everything is fine.  They’re stuffing me with food, bambi. Honestly, they think I haven’t eaten a crumb since I left last year._

 Sansa relaxes against the headboard of the bed, staring at the site she opened the moment she collapsed on the bed. “That’s wonderful. I miss your parents. They cook really well.” She says and a smile on her mouth.

 _How are you, bamb? It’s almost eleven in France. Did you and Harry fight?_ Her tone morphed into a worrying one, protective even. If Margaery could obtain a ticket at that moment, she would.

“I went to a wine testing today. They gave me a free bottle!” She announced and her free hand steadies the bottle a sit pours its contents down a glass by the nightstand. She drank and the taste of it enticed a warm feeling in her stomach.

 _Where’s Harry? Make sure to leave him some of the wine._ Margaery laughed.

Sansa refilled her drink, more of it than the first time. She sipped on the brim before reply. “Oh Harry didn’t go with me. I went with his parents. He went with his cousins up on some mountain. He hasn’t returned yet.” She babbled on, once again pouring her glass and not recalling that she finished event the first time.

There was a silence. And Sansa knew was what happening. Margaery is tracing the dots littering in their conversation. _Maybe you shouldn’t finish half of your part of the wine. You should drink lots of water and sleep._ She advised, cautious.

She shook her head, knowing that the other person on the call couldn’t see her. She tipped her head and drank. Was it the fourth time now? Not caring the slightest, she fills it once more time. “I’m on vacation. I should enjoy myself even if it’s with this Italian wine alone.” She whined.

Her focus shifted to a new post on her feed. It was Jon. He was tagged in a group shot with his friends. Ygritte was there, by his side, along with Pyp and the rest she didn’t care for. A frown settled on her mouth. Jon was caught laughing in mid-shot with a bottle of beer on his hand. He must be in some dumb party that they always attend. He must be having so much fun, more than she ever had ever since she landed on this posh resort.

_You could enjoy a nice sleep._

Sansa scoffed. “All I wanted was to learn how to ski. Jon would’ve taught me how to. He said so himself maybe it’s a joke for him. But I dearly do want to learn, if only Harry goes with me.” _If only Jon was here, he’d teach me. He’d care for me._ She slurred out, the words being conveyed as rougher because of the frustration in her tone.

She slumped against the bed, staring at the joyous picture of Jon, and her phone on her ear. With the other hand, she grips the wine glass, nearly empty. Her throat burned with unsaid words but maybe it’s the wine she’s been drinking. The bottle, under the lamp, showed only a fourth of the liquid is left.

 _Bambi, if you want to learn how to ski. Fuck, Harry and his ditching ass. Go yourself! See how much fun you’ll have without that athletic idiot. Do that tomorrow okay? Right now, go drink water, lots of it, and then sleep._ Margaery said in precise finality.

Sansa could picture Margaery, twirling strands of her hair around her finger, pacing around on the cobble stone way of the backyard, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Why would Margaery be worried? All she’s doing is glaring harshly at the pictures of Jon, being radiant and fun. And she’s finishing a bottle of wine by herself near Christmas Eve.

 The grey in Jon’s eyes are accentuated by the light they’re bathed in. She could almost hear the girls, who crush on him, talk highly of his eyes and how handsome he is in the casual attire of leather jacket, white shirt, and jeans.

_Bambi?_

“Yes, I’m here. I-you’re right. I should sleep. My head hurts.” She mumbles, the corner of her eyes stung. Why couldn’t she be happy like Jon? Have fun with Margaery, laugh and drink, and feel the buzzing festivity like how he does? What wrong has she done to deserve aching desolation and being light headed?

_Yeah you do that. I’ll call you later okay? Good night and please take care of yourself._

“Yes, ma’am.” She stated and ends the call. After slipping in the kitchen for glasses of water and a trip to the bathroom, she tucks herself in the cold sheets. But nothing can ever be as cold as her beloved.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The next day, as Harry promised, they went to the skiing lessons. Sansa couldn’t be more elated by this. She wakes up early, ate joyously with his family, even chatting with his cousins. They went down to the location and they signed up for the beginners since she has no experience.

What she didn’t like of her training was how condescending Harry was. He kept on spewing comments about how easy it was to ski on the snow. He kept on gliding around her, mentoring her even though her trainer is merely inches ahead of her with a scowl on her face. Sansa tried to concentrate and mimic the rest of the students. She mostly succeeded with the drills of sliding across a path, dodging obstacles like tall trees and boulders.

Patience is profound for a person like Sansa. She has been taught to be conscientious in everything, check all I’s and cross all the T’s before taking an inch of a step. So she supposed Harry being loquacious and showing off his beyond beginner is just his way of enjoying the boring time he’s spending with her.

When the hour has come to pass, everyone was returning their gears. She saw the mentor stop at her side, regarding her with a curious look. “Miss, how do you put up with an ass of a boyfriend? If I were you, I’d pummel him six feet in the snow.” She said, shaking her head and laughing.

Sansa glanced at Harry, expectantly waiting for her by the foot of a cabin. “I wish I was you then.” She muttered. She earned an arch of the woman’s brow but she merely shrugged and ambled to the topic of their conversation. “Sorry I kept you waiting.”

Harry smiled down at her. “Let’s get going, yeah?” He said and dropped his arm on her shoulders.

She couldn’t resist in peeking over her shoulder. The same trainer glanced at her with a frown. _I’ve disappointed her like everyone else in my life._ She thought in despair before snuggling up to Harry, ignoring the ache in her chest.

Nights that followed, she’d let Harry touch her, whisper things she has only dreamt of him saying. Then afterwards, when he’s heavily asleep, she slips away from his wane embrace and sit by the window, wearing only a bathrobe. She holds needles and balls of yarn crowd on her feet. She continues the pattern until one could clearly make out what she has been doing for more than a month.

When she was finished, she held it up and could already see him use this sweater she made. Perhaps he won’t really wear it because he’d deign himself but somehow, she yearns for him to do so.

The day finally came for Sansa to fly to Austria, where she shall spend her holidays with her own family. Suffocation won’t be a natural reaction in being surrounded by her boyfriend’s family. _And Jon will be there,_ a little wormy voice chortled at the back of her head. The blush came a second later. She knew Jon wouldn’t stop pestering her about the time she spent with Harry. This just meant she wouldn’t be left out anymore. She has Jon.

Her flight was due in the afternoon. It felt as though Harry couldn’t wait to drop her off but she brushes away her insecurities. “Good bye, love.” Sansa says and cups his cheek.

He leans on it and bends down to brush his lips on her forehead. “Have a fun time, princess.” _Do not call me princess._ He murmurs and pats her back. “Now, go on before I start crying.” He says with a laugh.

Sansa sits on her seat for hours on end. The first class provided her with a television that was meant to be her distraction but nothing is more chaotic than her turbulent mind. She keeps on mourning over how neglected she felt with Harry’s family. They barely batted an eyelash at her after it was made known she is Harry’s girlfriend. No one invited her to activities and didn’t help how he seems to be siding with them.

 _Perhaps it was too soon._ Sansa speculated. But how is three years not long enough? The only ones who appreciated her presence were his parents. They constantly talked of their firms but most importantly the relationship she has with their son. They talked of the both of them going to Harvard Grad after Columbia and inherit the firms their parents have works so hard for.

 Sansa kept on nodding, hands wringing, and her heart hammering anxiously in her ribcage. _They expect me to date him longer._ A shudder could’ve passed down her spine but perhaps it’s the cold of the land. She could also reason that she loves Harry, that he has her entire heart but the cloud of expectations loom bigger in this love.

As she waits for her baggage, she recalls the conversation she had with Lyanna. A smile broke out of her face. Excitement couldn’t be contained at being with the people she cares about. When her luggage is within her grasp, she rolls them behind her, searching for the dark haired woman with kind eyes. She stood in the midst of reunions and cries of affection, alone, with her suitcase on hand.

“Hey, love.”

Warmth swept through her system, Sansa genuinely thought something boiling burned her skin. She turns and sees Jon. Chewing on the inside of her cheek could scarcely prevent from letting the beam surface. Finally, after the horrid days with Harry’s family, she can be with someone who she finds comfort in.

“Jon.” She breathes in relief. She wanted to hug him but it wouldn’t be appropriate and the grip on the handle tightened. “Where’s Lyanna?” She questioned, craning her neck to see past his broad shoulders.

“Mom couldn’t come. She’s too busy preparing for the feast dedicated to you.” Jon replies with ease.

He closes in the distance, the smile in his eyes and face still evident. He bent lower so his hand enveloped hers on the handle of the suitcase. “I’ll carry this for you. I bet you’re exhausted sitting on your cute ass for hours.” He greets her in the crude way that only he can pull off without disturbing her refined senses.

“How was Christmas without me?” Sansa questioned as they strolled side by side. Her heels clicked against the tiled floor and the rolls of her suitcase hummed against it.

Jon smiled. “Ah, it was horrible! Everyone terribly missed you. And you missed me drinking an entire box of eggnog because you weren’t there.” _I missed you. You shouldn’t have left me alone._ He answered with a loud laugh. It was such a sight to behold; seeing Jon and hearing his deep chested laugh. He lowers his gaze at her. “How was your lovely vacation with your lovely boyfriend and his perfect family?” He questioned.

Sansa barely winced at the expected turn of events. She knew Jon would touch this topic with a stick, poking and provoking jokes to spill out of his mouth. She fixes her gaze ahead, the people not knowing how close she was to tears at the very mention of her vacation. “Oh, it was enjoyable. I learned how to ski.” She wouldn’t dare elaborate that she merely learned the very basics and she couldn’t finish a whole routine. She bit her tongue so she wouldn’t talk of Harry and how he disrupted her concentration with his ambitious talks.

Jon wore a farce wounded expression. It took everything in Sansa to not laugh. “I told you I’d be teaching you how to ski! Now I guess we have to race.” He sighed in defeat. They exited the airport and arrived at his car.

“I’d rather not. We’re already always competing in uni.” She resigned and seats on the front seat. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes when Jon bent his body towards her. He snapped the seatbelt on her waist and patted the strap.

“Listen, I promised Mother you’d be safe when we arrived there. We have to take all the precautions, princess.” Jon says and then settles on the driver’s seat. “And about the race, come on, we’ve been competitors since freshman college. It adds spice to our friendship.” He says and throws a glance and a beam at her, momentarily disarming her defences.

She straightens on the seat. They were halfway to the rest house already. _We’re not friends. Margaery and I are friends._ “This would be an easy win, Jon. You’ve been skiing for years now and I only got one lousy lessons. I barely learned anything.” She blurted out, frustration barbing her words and Jon is clearly intrigued.

He grinned, eyes on the road, but his attention is somehow devoted to the person next to him. “Oh, so you do need tutoring? I offer my services to you, doll. Free of charge!” He patted her knee, fleeting but the aftermath of tingles sizzled on her jean clad knee. “And by the way, why isn’t Harry with you? Wow, don’t you want your family to know him better? I know for a fact he’s not imaginary.” He says in casualness.

This is another thing Sansa prepared herself for; the blatant absence of her boyfriend. She would answer as vague as she could, not to dare in skimming along the actual situation. That she feels relieved Harry isn’t with her right now. She isn’t burdened by the gaping hole of helplessness stretching in her chest. Rather, she’s with Jon, light and is dense to her troubles.

“Maybe next year he can join us.” Sansa answered. She cups her chin on her palm and gazes out the window, snow and pine trees blurring into a mesh of ice and green. All the joking air seems to evaporate. Pop songs she faintly recognized flow out of the radio, filling the silence but not completely.

Jon held a questioning posture but he never acts on it. And for that, Sansa is relieved.

The brunch was exquisite; though what they ate certainly was, Sansa is downright ecstatic to be with Lyanna , her parents, her siblings, and Jon. They chatted all afternoon long, teas were brought to them and laughter rang in the air. With the fireplace cracking near their feet, the warmth in their faces and laughter heightened.

Her room, like always is on the second floor right across of Jon’s. It was elegant with a four poster bed, pristine pillows and sheets. An extended balcony with long lace frilled curtains brushing against the maple wooden floor. The bathroom is almost as large as the bedroom and her wardrobe was almost too spacious.

After arranging her clothes in the vast drawers, she plops on the bed, her phone beside her head, and her arms on her stomach. She jumped at the sound of her door opening. Propping herself on her elbows, she sees it was Jon, rolling in her third mauve suitcase. “Thank you, Jon.” She and sits at the edge of the bed, fingers playing with the ends of her cardigan.

“No problem, princess.” He says over his shoulder. But he stops, arches a brow and only now does she realize she called his name out. “Yes, doll?”

Sansa briefly wonders if he actually knows her name but instead shakily straightens her hands on her jeans. “The other day, way, way before, did you mean it when you said you wanted me to knit you a sweater? Or was it some joke?” She blurted in a rush, tripping over her pronunciation out of nervousness. She has been readying herself for him to burst into laughter and affirm what she hopes is nothing for him. Words are merely playthings for people like him.

He tilts his head to one side, his eyes gleaming. “Yeah, I mean, you look great in them. You can’t be the fashionable and the smart one too. It cancels out our dynamic.” He answers.

Sansa stands open, approaches one of her suitcases and letting it rest flat on the floor. She pushes the zipper open and she pulls out a medium sized toffee rectangular box. “Here.” She mumbled, eyes darting on the floor, and her face blooms with heat a fireplace could never contain.

Jon places the box on a desk to his right. He puts away the lid and he is now gazing at a sweater; it wasn’t much but the colours were ashen grey and spruce blue, shades that would make his eyes more noticeable. A beam brightens his face as he immediately wears it. “Wow, how did you get my measurements right?” He breathed in amazement, gazing at her with softness that could melt ice. The sweater was a perfect fit for him but she made sure to extend a few inches everywhere so it would truly feel comfy.

The answer would be contacting the suit parlour he and her father are considered regular customers. It wasn’t hard to extract the information with a drop of her name as well. She waves away. “Do you like it?” She asked, nervous, hands wringing, and it almost felt as though she _needed_ him to like it. Appreciation is a mere word these last weeks and she’s tired of it.

“Why, doll, this is the best gift I’ve ever had!” Jon exclaims and runs his hands down the cool stitched patterns.

She furrowed her eyebrows at this. Now she knows he’s greatly exaggerating. He’s trying to be polite to her. “Jon, you got Italian sports cars last year. How can that beat what your parents bought?” She asked, bewildered and almost offended if he was patronizing her.

He rolls his eyes; those perfect shades are distracting against the colours of what he’s wearing. “People like us, gifts bought mean almost nothing to us. But when you give me something priceless, effort in a form of a gift, why it’s the best thing I can ask for. And honestly, thank you.” He explains. His body makes a move to be closer to her but he retreats a few steps backward. He clears his throat and fixes his smile. “Thanks so much, doll.” He says with much weighted sincerity he could’ve deceived the police.

Sansa nods, his infectious joy showing symptoms on her face; the wide smile, their eyes glittering, and they both had instincts to move closer but never do. “Can I ask for my gift now?” She hums.

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “Doll, I’m so sorry. I didn’t get you anything. How about we spend two hundred dollars on the souvenir shop?” He offers.

She shakes her head. “I want you to teach me how to ski.” She proposes. The idea of skiing is far more appealing now. She knows Jon wouldn’t be obnoxious like Harry.

Jon brightens up even more, if that’s even possible. He offers his hand; the same way he does when there’s even a chance of being away from her. “Let’s go get your gift then.” He says, devilish intent sparking her nerves to life.

It turns out, his private lessons are far more entertaining and lively than the ones in France. He would hold on her waist tight, his grip secure, as he lectured her on the how to move sideways on the snow. They did it slowly and Jon was oddly encouraging, the complete opposite of Harry. His words were gentler and he spoke with the softest tone she has ever heard him use.

When it was clear Sansa learned the ins and outs, they spent the rest of the day racing on slopes that grew in heights until they reached near half of a nearby mountain. She couldn’t recall a time wherein her laughter steamed in the air in countless of times or her cheeks numbed not from the cold but from his teasing.

The next days passed in blurred meals and talks by the fireplace. Sansa and Jon went out and tested each activity in the resort they’re in. They participated in dogsledding, snow shoeing, and one of Sansa’s favourite new winter sport, ice skating. Sansa’s hands went white at how hard she was holding Jon the entire time they spent on the rink. Jon kept on laughing over her nervous affect but it couldn’t be denied how his grip might be tighter than hers in any of the time he held her.

If her siblings had comments of this newfound time together, none have verbally said it. Robb would noticeably focus more on the video games upon seeing him and Sansa return from their lessons. Arya, always beside Robb, would smirk nastily as though she knows the blush on her sister’s face isn’t of the cold. Their younger brothers hadn’t cared about this and fully enjoyed the vacation.

It was New Years’ Eve and Lyanna ’s famed party reached their friends and people are flying to the just to attend the party. Catelyn, Lyanna, and Sansa, together applied makeup for each other styled each other’s hair. With Mother’s help, she picked a dress for the event. She wore a classic short sleeved, high neck, and knee length fawn-brown dress. 

The party began and Sansa, along with her and Jon’s parents, mingled with the guests, retelling anecdotes and drinking champagne. But Jon isn’t anywhere in the party or what she’d say a “social land mine”. He would’ve laughed at that.

When the party carried on without her help, she slipped away to the front porch. She wore a thick coat and her hand held glass with wine. She could stay in this moment for forever. Yet she noticed someone standing a little too near one of Jon’s car that his father brought here. She slowly approached the figure, bent towards the vehicle.

When she was close enough, recognition is known. “Sneaking off, are we?” She stated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm thinking of doing a chapter dedicated to jon so we can see how he feels about all of this.... should i do it???


	3. I Get Drunk On You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alcohol makes people tell the truth. The very same thing Jon hates and wants from the woman who has been haunting him all his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully, y'all will understand jon's behavior in the last chappy

**_Jon_ **

Jon jumped in surprise and cursed when he dropped the keys. “ _Jesus,_ love, you scared me!” He exclaimed and turned around to see her almost _glowing_ n this winter night. He gripped the keys on his palm, the biting pain was welcoming so he wouldn’t stare too much. Not that she’d noticed but he’d rather not have to deny of doing it.

She sipped from the glass and her plush lip lingered a moment longer. “And where do you think you’re going?” She demanded, her voice cool, maybe even colder than any nights he has known.

A smile tugged on the corner of his mouth. He is reminded of the times wherein Sansa would have to be his accomplice in not telling his parents where he sneaks off to. He isn’t sure why she hasn’t whispered even a word of it. Perhaps she doesn’t care where he goes.

“Tormund is here and so is the rest of the gang. I’m going to attend his party.” He explains and presses a button so the doors of his car are unlocked with a beep.

Her sky like clear eyes widened in horror. Now it was definitely a challenge in not smiling. The slights of anything always did offend her. “You can’t do that. Your mother is the host. It would be improper.” She says in a clipped tone. Protectiveness stiffened her posture and her eyebrows scrunched in frustration.

Sansa has always been attached to Mother and vice versa. Probably because she has only one son and Sansa is the perfect daughter for her. Mother would always sing praises of Sansa, a message so evident in her tunes that Jonis used to her implications.

“Yes I can. I’m an adult and I can go to this party.” He says. An idea lit his mind and he leaned on the side of his car. “How about you come with me?” He proposed. Now her scandalized expression grew and he laughed. It’s endlessly amusing in seeing her aloof façade break at his blatant words.

Sansa turned her neck, the moonlight washing over the smooth column of skin. She assessed him and to see that she’s waiting for him to burst out laughing, declaring it be a joke. But it isn’t now. His friends would finally meet Sansa; the only girl he ever mentions.

“Mother won’t miss us, doll. She’s having too much fun.” He coos. He could just stand here and talk with Sansa. Missing both parties wouldn’t be such a loss if it meant enticing her cheeks to near magma underneath her skin.

Sansa took her bottom lip as captive with her front teeth. “You know I’ll cling to you, right? I do _not_ know anyone in that party. I’ll be an annoying shadow.” She pointed out with certainty. Her words conveyed how confident she was that he’d leave her here and enjoy the party.

He tilted his head to one side, excitement buzzed in his veins just as how it had been when they’d hangout in the past few days. “You’re not annoying and you’d be the cutest shadow.” He said and opened the passenger’s door. To both of their surprise, Sansa slipped in.

The ride wasn’t long and it did not feel like it reached any lengths. Sansa sat perfectly still, her hands on her lap, and she stared out the window the entire car drive. For once, Jon’s structured flow of conversation normally applicable in these situations, were lost to him. He couldn’t think of one good topic for Sansa. He frets and frets yet nothing comes to mind.

“How’s ballet?” He blurted out. The moment the words hit his senses, he wanted to smack his forehead.

Sansa faced him with a bewildered expression. “I stopped when I was eighteen remember?” She answered with doubt thickly coated on her words.

 _Shit, right._ His focus is poured on the road but somehow more so with his company. “I remember your recitals. To this day, I still don’t get any of your performances.” He reminiscence with a subtle smile. It was true. His parents demanded that he attends the recitals her girl school put out. The images of her in taffy pink leotard, her lean legs are art itself for him at that young age, and her flexible body are never forgotten for him.

“That’s because you don’t read the pamphlet; it explains the concept of each performance.” Sansa muttered in the assumption he won’t hear her. But he always does because he exerts extra effort tin listening to her susurrated notes. It would’ve been a joke if not for the person who uttered it. In fact, Jon can’t recall a time wherein the woman at his side ever told a joke.

Not so long after that, silence settled in the air, much comfier than with anyone he has known. They arrive at the vast mansion up ahead. He parked on the curve of the driveway, where the rest of the cars are. Together, they walked to the front porch where there were numerous inebriated people already. Dancing to remix songs and chugging more liquor in their systems.

Without a second of contemplation, he holds her hand as he scans the sea of familiar looking students. It’s known to them, even if they won’t acknowledge it, they’re each other’s anchors. They wove through the crowd, his hold on her increasing in strength and stopped at a table with bowls of chips and red cups.

“Classic party necessities I supposed.” Sansa deadpanned. Her expression of aversion caused him to smile.

Jon tugged her hand. “Come on, let’s go get something stronger to drink.” He urges and they head towards the bar. The beats of the unnamed songs emphasized as noise and he hid away the content in feeling Sansa inch closer, unsure of their surroundings except for him.

“Snow, I haven’t drunk anything of those sorts. You’ll have to educate me.” Sansa said as she gestured to the shelves of ancient scotch, clear bottles of tequila and vodka. Her innocent voice slithered past his defences and he swore he shivered at how her dark lashes flutters against her soft cheeks.

“Sure thing, doll.” He acquiesced. The nickname he gave her is used commonly by him but somehow, when she slightly pouts in irritation at hearing that word, it felt sweeter on his tongue. He got her a shot glass and it looked bigger on her small hand.

As he poured on the glasses, he briefly wondered why she’s even with him. Jon's assumption, upon his knowledge of her, is that Sansa would ignore him and merely spare a glance at him when he’ll have a horrid hangover the next day. And yet, she’s seated high on the currant stool, watching him as he filled their glasses. He had an instinct to ask what truly happened with Harry but that isn’t their dynamic.

They don’t _have_ to know everything about each other. Their friendship is twisted and intricate. And he hates and loves this.

“Okay, so what we have here is vodka. You tip your head and drink all of it at once. I’ll drink with you.” Jon instructs. One thing that thrills him is that he’s constant person to give Sansa new experiences; things her dumb blond boyfriend won’t deign himself to do. Luckily, he’s practically shameless when it comes to Sansa.

She tips her head back as she drinks from the small glass and so does he. She frowns as the bitterness rolls around her mouth, she makes a disapproved whine and Jon guffaws at her reaction.  He hurriedly gives her a slice of lime of which she sucked the juices off. What they didn’t notice was how they still held hands, their hands rested on the bar, and Jon swiped his thumb on her skin. If people weren’t dancing or drinking, they would’ve clearly seen how the pair is trapped in their own bubble.

“You alright?” Jon questions and repeats the patters on her hand.

Sansa jerkily nods. “Yes but oh my, people _enjoy_ this?” She rasped, her voice feathered down his spine and yet her glass against his in a clank of collision. “Pour me more of that, Snow.” She demanded.

Jon gazed at her for a moment. She almost looked desperate for alcohol but why would she need to get drunk? He wanted to ask but that would mean showing concern. Instead, he made a move to pour but a familiar voice called. He slipped from her grasp and faced sideways, seeing Grenn and Tormund.

He grinned, devilish more than relieved, at seeing their poorly concealed shocked faces at Sansa seated in front of him and his knee bumping against her bare knee. “Hey, guys.” He cheerily greeted them.

“Uh, hey….” Grenn muttered, his dark eyes wide and filled with questions.

Tormund drank from his glass at the sight of them. “Hey, Snow.” He greeted. “And uh, Sansa, right?” He asked in farce uncertainty. Everyone in their group knew who she was and even information deemed useless to them, it’s imprinted in their minds.

Sansa nods. “Yes. Hello Grenn and Tormund, lovely party, you have here.” She answers in that civil tone that makes it clear she’s not interested in the party at all.

The taller redhead smile is hidden as he raises the brim of the cup to his lips. “Thanks, Stark. And by all means, enjoy.” He says and quite obviously stirs the intrigued blond away from them.

More songs flowed from the speakers and so did the alcohol on their glasses. They remained on their seats, drinking. Both had questions weighing their tongues down until the silence suffocated them. Jon slid off his seat and offered his hand once more. “Let’s introduce you to the gang, yeah?” He proposes with glinting eyes and his smile sparkled at the very prospect.

“You want me to meet your friends?” Sansa echoed in bewilderment.

He shrugged. “Yeah, why not? It’s not like people don’t know we know each other.” He reasoned. He didn’t say “friends” because that word is continents away from defining them. They are too much for acquaintance and less than friends. The same warmth flushes in his veins in feeling her hand on his.

He leads her to where his friends are. They’re situated in another set of navy cushions, laughing and drinking. When he and Sansa joined them, they were warmly welcomed and they were loquacious in wild stories. When Jon loved was how involved Sansa is in the conversations as she drank more. She still sat next to him and she would retell embarrassing stories that would only make him roll his eyes.

Jon refilled her drink, was it the sixth time now? He made sure to lessen his seeing as how Sansa sways on the sofa now. She’s tipsy, Jon laughed in his thoughts.

“We should dance.” Sansa insisted and pointed to the mass of people grinding and doing God knows what on the dance floor.

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so, princess. And this isn’t ballet or ballroom dancing. It’s called grinding.” He explained. Reaching forward, he tucks a loose curl behind her ear.

Sansa pouts; an action he’d never seen her do and the beam on his face could be seen for miles. “Maybe I want us to grind.” She whines and reaches for her shot glass, drinking the vodka and barely reacts. Her eyes are glassy and her smile was too wide for this occasion.

“Yeah, maybe you guys _should_ grind.” Val encouraged her drunken requested. She relaxed as she sipped from her margarita. The brunette was relentless in these sorts of attacks and Sansa isn’t in the right mind to avoid it.

Jon glowered at her. It was one thing to be at a party with Sansa but for physical contact to be thrown in the mix of alcohol? Disaster is written all over this poorly thought plan. “You should go easy, princess. You’ve had a lot tonight.” He gently reminded her.

“Princess?” Tormund repeated, veering away from the conversation he’s having with Pyp to throw a smirk their way. “That’s real sweet of you.”

Grenn hides his chuckle as he gingerly sips from his bottle of beer. Val’s smirk is louder than the ear splitting music.

Sansa giggles. Now Jon concludes she’s truly drunk. The woman he’s grown up with would never laugh in that carefree manner. “He always calls me that! Maybe he thinks I’m some royalty.” She whispered quite loudly that made his friends, almost as drunk as her, laugh loudly. “I can’t be a princess without my crown.” She reasons and gestured to the crown of her head.

 _You don’t really need one._ He thought but he merely nods. If he was honest, the nickname started out as a taunt. To annoy Sansa, the sensible and understanding person, is a rare gift and he relished her subtle displays of ire when he calls her that. Now, she doesn’t react, she’s desensitized but he’d like to think she likes it.

He glances at his watch, it was near midnight. “We should go.” He said and stood up. Protests met with his announcement but he would have none of it. The longer they stay, the longer Sansa would be intoxicated. He loosely circles his hand on Sansa’s arm to make her stand up. But she’s clumsy so he has to wrap an arm on her waist. “Let’s go.”

“I want us to grind! Val thinks we should. I do not know what that is but surely you’ll teach me? I want to be under you, Jon.” Sansa slurred against his bicep. She giggled once more and her hands are wrapped on his one arm.

Jon laughed but glared at his proud friends over his shoulder. “Maybe I’ll teach you when you’re not drunk, princess.” He murmurs against the top of her head, his hand unknowingly massaging her clothed waist. He gently guides her outside of the booming house and carefully straps her in the car.

As he drives back to their cabin, Sansa continues to gaze at him with those mesmerizing eyes. “I like your friends. They are really accommodating to strangers which is moi at the moment.” She mumbled; her smile loopy and her posture is uncharacteristically slacked. “This is the most fun Christmas vacation I’ve ever had.”

Jon threw a suspicious look over at her because of this nonchalant answer. “What about when you went over at Cher-whatever with Harry?” He asked with caution. He would give anything to know what occurred that caused this nonsensical woman to actually get drunk.

“Even I can’t remember it!” Sansa laughed. She heavily leans against the seat, still pinning him on his with that wide eyed look. “I didn’t have fun there at all.” She mumbled with angst.

Sadly they arrived at their cabin with the party in its full swing; by wordless songs lazily drifts in the air as fancily dressed people are ambling around, socialising and drinking expensive champagne.

It wasn’t difficult to obscure their entrance in the mansion since there were various manners in entering it. Jon assisted Sansa to her room and he laid her at the edge of the bed. He retrieves a pitcher of water from the mini-fridge by the foot of the nightstand and gives it to her. “You need to drink water. It’s a diuretic and it’ll lessen your hangover.” He explains and brushes his hand down her hair.

Sansa smiles up at him. “You are so smart.” She coos and drinks the water.

He walks over to her wardrobe and gathered her flannel pyjamas. He bit back a smile at how he isn’t surprised by this. “Change.” He says and takes the glass away and places it on a nearby table.

Jon turns, facing the cream wall beside the door. He hears her whine and he clenches his jaw. Only does he turn when she calls for him. A smile surfaces in seeing her struggle with the zipper of her dress. “Here.” He says and slides the handle down between the teeth. They part away; revealing the simple coal bra she wears and the impossible smooth skin of her back. His fingers tingled; the latent yearn to graze them down her spine is an undeniable want expanding in each breath he takes.

His throat tightens at this burning imagery but the view is obscured by the top of her pajamas. He blinks away, ashamed but the picture is seared behind his eyelids.

When Sansa crawls on all fours like some cat, she tucks herself in, beaming up at him where he stayed standing at one side of her bed. “You’re so nice. No wonder I had such an immense crush on you.” She professed in a nonchalant manner but her words nearly stop his heart from beating.

He collapsed on the bed, his hands clenching on his thighs, doing everything to make sure this isn’t some sick dream. Because hearing those words being pushed out of her pink lips is a want he wouldn’t ever express even in his thoughts.

“You what…?” He stuttered out as response. If his friends were here, they’d be laughing with tears in their eyes in witnessing him so flabbergasted and puzzled.

She inches the blanket higher until it rests on top of her shoulders. “We met when we were fourteen. Aside from my overtly affectionate family and friends, you were so different from everything that I knew. And _gods_ , how refreshing it was to know someone who isn’t all fairy tales and glittery laughter.” She answers in the most simplistic tone and Jon felt slightly daft at not knowing this. “I might’ve loved you though I don’t think I’d want that.”

Her words were lax and that’s what bends his armour, his defence against Sansa. It grew thicker over the years but she always found some way to loosen a screw and his chest, or what’s inside of it, is always her target. Pride is something he values yet something is of more importance. He buries the hurt that accompanied Sansa’s confession.

“Why?” He croaked out, his eyes glued on her hands, the very same ones that he loves to hold and would never let go if time permits.

“Besides Margaery and my dear family, you’re the only constant person in my life.” She answers with the retained relaxation that continually baffles him.

His eyes climb over the sheet covering her body to meet her warm eyes. “But Harry….” He reminds her. Ever since that pretentious blond came in her life, the definition of being selfless is tortuously drilled in his mind. There isn’t a thing to hate about him. Harry cares for Sansa and they’ve been dating for so long. What he won’t admit is how jealous he is, the colour green is felt every time he sees Sansa happy with her boyfriend.

She smiles, silly and happy. She rests her head on the soft pillow and gazes at him with soft appreciation, more than what he should’ve receive and be of worth. “I used to think you’d be my boyfriend, when we were young. Our parents had obvious hope. Did you?” She questioned; her breathing deepening and her eyes fluttering to a close.

Lost to the pair were the count downs that echoed and listed off a floor below.

_10, 9, 8, 7, 6 5……_

Jon painstakingly moves locks away from her face. He’s assured that she would remember none of this; that maybe she’s blurting out nonsense. But oh a part of him sings to the tune of her words. “I wish I’d stop.” He confessed. The words bouncing in his chest finally rolled down his tongue and landed on the very person he’d been pining for before he even knew what love is.

A content smile curled her mouth. Jon didn’t notice how the upper part of his body is bent and he has her caged under him. He lets his lips hover on her cheek, to plant a tiny kiss, a small grant of his wishes since he has been dreaming of her soft skin.

 But Sansa turned and their mouths met in the gentlest of skims. Their mouths merely brushed along each other, smooth as sin and Jon had never been this tempted before. Her sigh tumbles in his mouth and he inhales it, everything she does is magical and infects his system anyways.

She smiles and he closes his eyes, desperate to secure this memory with a silver lock. He cups her cheeks, digging into the flesh when Sansa says his name in a breath. It wasn’t the formality in Jon; her tone forever reminding him that a barrier separates them. No, in this instance she sighs is his name, _Jon,_ in that peculiar serpentine manner that coils around him in his dreams.

_4, 3, 2, 1_

The fireworks lighting up the sky, people cheering and kissing each other, paled in comparison to what it appears to be a kiss one would treasure and the other would brush off as imagination. They say when you kiss someone on the very strike of New Years; you’d be with them forever. Yet these two do not need the kiss to affirm this notion.

“Me too.” She says underneath a whisper. The words caress his lower lip and it enticed goose bumps to dot his arms. In the next second, she’s sleeping soundly. Her head lolled to one side and she snuggles against the blanket, oblivious to the turmoil brewing in him.

Jon hastily stood up, his fingers dancing on his mouth feeling their kiss that lasted not more than a few breaths stay and taunt him. The noise in the living room merely buzzed his senses because his mind is in havoc with his body. They kissed. Their mouths wrote a word or two in bodily poetry.

Jon should feel guilty. He kissed Sansa. The woman he’d known all his life, the aloof person that has him within her nimble fingers. Her beauty and intelligence has been captivating for him, never ceasing to amaze him, and he is thankful for being the lone spectator in this wondrous show. Sansa is the same woman who has a boyfriend, whom she dearly loves.

But if you love someone, why would you kiss someone else?


	4. Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth spills. Not the one everyone knows but the other one Sansa has been hiding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last addition to this fic because i love Pain

Margaery returns from one of her late study groups of European Art Histories, the panic sets deep in her bones. There, curled up on the sofa, is Sansa. Her fiery hair messily twisted into a bun on the nape of her neck, her pale arms circled around her knees. And the very thing causing her worry is the half-empty tequila bottle. _Not again,_ she desperately thought.

 

Carefully, Margaery drops her worn out bag on the chair and hovers her hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “Bambi…” She whispered, like how a mother might coo at her child.

 

Sansa merely sniffled and hugged her knees tighter. Textbooks are methodically spread on their coffee table, pens and highlighters on the centre of the books. But there were black and white pictures that covered most of the printed paragraphs of her books. It featured the same couple but her throat tightened as recognition dawned upon her.

 

“I tried to drink, really I did but this will be all I think about even when I’m inebriated. So, instead, I lit a fire to burn the other photos. The evening wind swept away the ashes on the balcony.” Sansa muttered, a sickening wonder lit her words and it churned Margaery’s stomach at hearing it. She releases her legs and faces her. It was evident she has been crying with her cheeks glistening with tears, her eyes wide and watery, and her face was scrunched up in sadness.

 

Margaery sat next to her, combing her fingers through the crying girl’s hair. “Bambi, you should go to sleep.” She calmly urges and circles her hands on her arms but the lithe woman slips away and pushes herself at the other end of the sofa.

 

Sansa’s shining red locks tumbled out of the hairstyle and fell in waves down her shoulders, her thick eyebrows knitted together, and her smooth face still retained the gloom. “He always thinks I’m constant, like a needle in a compass. That I don’t send P.I’s to him whenever he lies to me on where he’s going for some convention his father sends him to. But, what he doesn’t know is that I also cheated on him.” She announces, her voice wavers and it’s even sadder to note that she is sober as she makes her speech.

“What are you on?” The brunette carefully questions.

 

The smile was heart breaking. “I kissed Jon when we were in a party. I was very drunk so I kissed him but I know how his lips taste like.” She admitted without any shame. Perhaps because her words were coated in veneration; the precise emotion Margaery suspected they have for each other. It wasn’t obvious but the hints were scattered around their hidden smiles when they passed by each other or the fact that Jon has a soft spot for her.

 

There wasn’t any surprise sparking her nerves. “Will you go bragging to Harry now?” She taunted.

Sansa’s giggle bounced in the walls of their apartment. “No, I wouldn’t do that.” Her attention strayed from their conversation and back to the photos. She held them out for her best friend to see. It was clear Harry sat across a gorgeous woman, dressed in a thigh slit dress, shined curls flowing down her back, and her smile was magazine worthy. “This one is also pretty not blonde ones he usually goes out for.” She pointed out.

 

Though Margaery agreed with her, the chill ran through her bones at how sober and nonchalant she is at the moment. “Maybe there are other people in the photo your Sherlock didn’t capture.” She suggested, naïve and hopeful; almost reminded her of Sansa the first time she presented a stack of photos to her centuries ago.

 

She merely tilted her head to one side. “Oh they are most definitely alone. He reserved the best seats in the house for her.” Both of their heads snapped to the sound of the door welcoming an unexpected guest. For a moment, Sansa broke out of her lax state at the sight of Jon; walking in with books and his laptop bag swinging on his shoulder.

 

“Hey love, I’m not _technically_ trespassing since I texted you. And for my bribe, I bought you cheesecake from the uni café.” He declared with a smile but it sloped downwards at the sight of the two sullen ladies. “Ah, is everything alright here?” He questioned with a higher pitch in tone.

 

Margaery glowered at the man. “Why don’t you go watch youtube tutorials or visit the library? Don’t bother us.” She spat out. Even she knew how Sansa would despise showing weakness of her armour, her defence, to Jon.

 

 _“I wouldn’t want to know if Jon cares for me or not. I’d rather convince myself he doesn’t.”_ _Sansa once professed to her._

 

“Slow down there, tiger. I’m begging your best friend to tutor me. Love, help me out here.” Jon called out with a laugh. But the joyous sound faded when he noted Sansa is staring at the pictures laid across of her textbooks. “Is, um, everything alright?”

 

“Not that it concerns you so you should leave. I’ll tutor you tomorrow. Not tonight though.” Sansa answers in that detached politeness that would signal anyone who knows her something is terribly wrong. She isn’t the type of person to sob under the weight of her problems. No, she sinks in it with such profound level she becomes numbed from it.

 

 Jon approached them. Though Sansa was swift, he was quicker to snatch the photo form her hands. He studied it with horror, he stared at them. “Is that…. _Harry with another woman_?” He demanded with a bite to his words that had the capability to tear off a limb if possible.

 

When the women didn’t answer, it already served as one for his inquiry. “Holy fuck, he’s cheating on you?” He roared and in that burst of rage, it didn’t occur to him he dropped his books and started pacing. Fury etched on the clench of his jaw, his grey eyes darkening like thundering clouds, and the photograph is now crumpled as his hands balled into fists.

Sansa rose from the sofa and walked to him. She only donned a loose sweater and shorts; her bare feet didn’t make a sound. “Stay calm.” She instructed.

 

Jon’s mouth could’ve fallen on the floor if it was possible with his stupefied expression. “ _Stay calm?”_ He echoed in a boom of ridiculousness. “How can I stay calm when your boyfriend is or already fucked this woman?” His focus slid away from the redhead and stalked over to the coffee table. He gathered the other photos and horror on his gave grew worse.

 

Margaery knew what the athlete held. The complied documentation serves as proof of the other women Harry snuck around with. She glanced at Sansa and somehow, she appeared smaller; with her hands curling on the ends of her sweater, her shoulders caving in her chest, but her widened eyes warily observed Jon.

 

“How long has this been going on?” He inquired and faced them. The darkness surrounding him made Jon more threatening; angrier. Shadows accentuated the scowl on his face.

 

Without knowing it, she went to Sansa and draped her arm on the taller woman’s shoulders. _Why do you even care?_ She wanted to ask but to pile on more reasons for drama could only be sliced away by the strongest knife. From the stories Sansa have told her, they should be distant to one another. There isn’t a reason for them to be “friends” other than their parents. Yet here they are. Sansa and Jon will perpetually gravitate towards each other

 

Sansa sinks against her best friend’s side. “It’s been happening for a time.” Her voice a mere inch above a whisper but he hears it anyways.

 

“Don’t start that game now. I want the time.” He growls. His stance alerted them he yearns to flee the building and find Harry to pummel him to a pulp.

 

“Six months.” Margaery blurted out. She raised her hands in the air. “Maybe he can talk some sense into you.” She defends with a nervous smile in return to Sansa glowering at her. All these months, she has been reiterating her points on this situation. That Sansa should leave Harry with dignity and self-worth.

 

 _I can’t._ These are the two saddest words Margaery ever heard; weak and defeated in the battle of love.

 

Unadulterated ire blazed through his eyes. The pictures at the center as he clenched it, walking past them in haste, crumpled intensely.

 

Sansa blocks his path even though he stood a little taller than her because of his anger. Her hands rest on his clothed chest. “Where are you going?” She said in askance. But the tensed trio knows where he plans to go. She lowers her hands down to her side as though his skin burned her palms. “Please do not be rash. And this is my relationship; I’ll only have the opinions of this.”

 

Jon scoffed. “What are you waiting for? Are you building a case around so you’ll sue him for emotional distress?” He questioned with heavy sarcasm.

 

“I, I’ll talk with him first thing in the morning. “ Sansa swears yet her words were shaky and urgent; desperate to defuse the rage brewing in him.

 

He narrowed his eyes at her promise. “Talk with Harry? How about after I beat the shit out of that asshole, you’ll breakup with him?” He blatantly negotiated.

 

Even Margaery could see her best friend blanched at the imminent threat. It wasn’t spurred out of the heat in idleness. No, Jon would keep his promise. She felt her heart bleed for Sansa. The picture of her absolutely devastated could make the stoniest of men crumble.

 

She stood beside Sansa. “Boy, mind your damn business okay? She’ll teach you tomorrow.” The proposal did feel beneficial to all parties involved. In addition, seeing the only person outside of her family exceedingly anguish is a burned to her heart.

 

“And you! You knew all along and you’re supposed to be her best friend, right? Why didn’t you do shit?” Jon hissed and nudged his anger towards her; the unlucky target.

 

His rage burned through her skin and lit her veins magma. “Listen here, I’ve been with her since the beginning. I’ve been the shoulder she cries on, I fucking pleaded her to breakup with that asshole since I found out. What have you done? Slept around and didn’t look closely enough at her.” Her last three words were punctuated on his chest as she angrily pokes at him.

 

“You and I both know her enough for her reasons on why they’re still together.”

Jon made a move to reply but Sansa’s silky voice gently intervened.

 

“Maybe they’re merely dining with each other. A client of his father.” Sansa wane countered, using Estelle’s reason in this dilemma.

 

“They dine then fuck, princess.” He assured her but his annoyance fell flat at his nickname for her. A curious thing to do when the person who receives it is in a relationship; not a loving one but is taken nonetheless. “You _will_ breakup with him or I’ll break his fucking legs and his pretty face.” His tone left no room for arguments.

 

Margaery recalled the first time she found out of this horrid truth. She had to take a shortcut to the university’s art gallery for a lecture. A brisk walk down the eastern wing of the Law building that is presumed abandoned at that time. She paused in her steps at hearing the janitor closet banged open and out came Harry, zipping up his pants, and some obscured woman messily kissing his neck. They weren’t drunk because they’re steps weren’t sloppy but oh they were joyful.

 

That was the only absence she willingly took for she raced back to their apartment and recounted to Sansa what had transpired. Tears welled in her eyes; the blue in them paling so much it resembled a clear river instead of a summer sky. She stayed by Sansa’s side as she cried all night and her pitiful wails rang in her ears for days. The next day, Margaery arms had deep crescent moons embedded on her skin.

 

“I, I love Harry. His family and mine talk a future together after law school.” Sansa put forth the precise reason again and again until Margaery could recite it word for word. But a quick slide of eyes to Jon and she knew he wouldn’t have any of it. Thank the Gods.

“You love him but we kissed.” Jon pointed out with a smirk.

 

Margaery’s eyes bulged out and her hand flew to her mouth and muffled the squeak. Sansa kissing Jonis one thing but for him to reciprocate it and appears to _enjoy_ it. What universe do they reside in? Her suspicions are now converted into facts. Though it isn’t the ideal time in any of her assumptions, it was thing a thing to deal with.

 

Sansa’s cheeks went scarlet and a coy smile curled her lips. It was an endearing sight and even more so at seeing Jon’s smirk softens into an adoring one. The future lawyers didn’t have the urge to ignore the accusation at all. They’d be guilty of charge.

 

Her shy reaction faded away and was replaced with the true Sansa as she frowned. “That was a mistake.” She reasoned rather in a wane manner.

 

Margaery suspected it was a lie because there wasn’t any firmness in what she said. As though she only had to say it for Jon to believe her. She wished she cooked popcorn in watching these two spars back and forth.

 

“It might be.” He lightly agreed, his blank face gave nothing of the probably hurt he felt at hearing that. “But his sins outweigh yours. All we need was lip action meanwhile he actually rolls in bed with other girls.”

 

 Logic is the only way to make Sansa understand the nature of things. Emotions vary in people, Sansa once said to her, but reason and objective facts can close an argument in and out of court. It was odd how she doesn’t apply that theory in this dilemma.

 

“I, I _can’t_ be alone. I need him. I love him.” Sansa pleaded to them; the unforgiving jury to her case. A sob bubbled out of her throat and tears rolled down her eyes. Her quivering hands covered her face and her neck craned down.

Margaery reproached and embraced her tightly. There was an underlying message and it only took her a second to grasp and process it. Such a pity the object of her affections, where her true and profound feeling truly lie, is such a dense person. “We’ll give you time, okay? But honestly bambi, everything points to the exit on the door.” She coos, her hand rubbing on the small of her back.

 

She felt the tiny nod Sansa did. The strong person they knew so well was nowhere to be found in this weeping woman, sobbing out chilling cries to the man who doesn’t give a care for her. Margaery turned and felt another chill feather down her spine at witnessing the protective expression painted so clearly on Jon’s face. She felt sorry for Sansa’s boyfriend because the chaotic intent glinting in his darkened eyes hinted no mercy for the reason why Sansa sobs on her shoulder.

 

“You should rest, sweetling.” Jon urges and stands beside Sansa. His hand gently running through her messy locks and settled on her neck, massaging the skin there. “I’ll get you water and you have to sleep, okay? We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

Uncanny is the only description she has for witnessing Jon acting so caring and gentle to Sansa. She walks her to her bedroom and Jon entered not a moment later with a glass of water. Sansa bid them a goodnight and curled in her thick blankets.

Margaery closed the door with a subtle click and turned to Jon. “I know you’ll still punch him.  Make sure you break his nose real good he’ll need tubes to breathe.” She nonchalantly requests.

Another peculiar thing was Jon, the renowned womanizer and athlete, blush profusely at her words.

 

 

 

 

_Sansa Stark_

She barely got any sufficient sleep. With that in mind, it petrifies her as she usually gets the right amount of sleep no matter how burdening the school work is. The moment her alarm shrieked, she wanted nothing more than to push her phone in a drawer beneath where it stays. But as usual, she drags herself out of the bed and gets dressed.

 

When she entered the living room, her books were still open and arranged. The photos were on the sofa, curled into balls because Jon fisted them in anger. Seeing his fierce reaction was very much unexpected; she genuinely assumed he’d taunt her and laugh at her. But his outrage of her situation caused a spark of fear in her as well as baffling her. Jon reacted in a manner that gave the impression he _cares_ for her. An emotion she didn’t know he possessed or rather, an aspect of him she actively omitted from memory because it’s a quicksand from then on.

 

She shook her head and found the kitchen empty. A note and a plate of scrambled eggs and a mug of steaming coffee greeted her instead. “ _I have things to do but I made breakfast!”_ Margaery’s cursive informed of her whereabouts.

 

Without any disruption, she walks to her first lecture in the Law building. The professor droned on and on about topics she studied weeks before this very day. She merely jotted down things for more additional notes for.

 

At one point, between her second or third lecture, unexplainable anxiety tickles the back of her neck. She twists her head and scans the fellow students in the class to find Jon nowhere to be seen. She furrowed her brows, attention no longer directed to the professor, giving them a recommended book for torque.

 

Where could he have gone? She dearly hoped his absence isn’t related to last night’s incident. She’d hate it if it was her fault as to why he missed half a day worth of lessons. As she exited the building, she figured a copy of everything she jotted down would be her payment.

 

Guilt and shame lingered bitterly on her mouth whenever she recalls what had happened. The former because Jon discovered how incapable she is as a partner and the latter for the reason of making it known how much of a failure her relationship has been. It wasn’t like this in the first two years, Jon was confident in the love she and Harry shared. They were _happy._ But perhaps it was only her delusion that makes her smile in those foolish times.

 

An appetite for lunch didn’t have its appeal so with a quick text to Margaery; she headed to the library of their building. Though her table has all the piled books she doesn’t necessarily need, the usual thirst for knowledge is subdued. Her best friend and Jon’ words swirled in her mind.

 

_But honestly bambi, everything points to the exit on the door._

_All we need was lip action meanwhile he actually rolls in bed with other girls._

 

She merely stared at the glossy oak table for an hour or two, occasional chew of her lower lip, her eyes glazed, and her eyebrows knitted as she is indecisive. For once in her life, rationality isn’t the preferred method of solving her problems.

 It would be so easy to breakup with him, to be free from these chains that she has, clinging on him. But after she moves on, when her heart is free of the venom Harry injected in her blood, she knew she’d go back to the way things are.

 

Hopelessly pining for Jon is what she did ever since she met Harry. The tiny talks they have, covert smiles, their annoyingly accurate and innate understanding of each other fascinates her deeply to no end. She won’t allow herself to sink in that abyss, not that deep again.

 

The thump of books nearby derailed her train of thought. She exited the library, knowing not even the most interesting of books can distract her from the decision she has to make. _I should confront my shitbag of a boyfriend; maybe even show him the pictures._ The thought firmly strengthened in her mind as she marched to the football field.

 

During Thursday, Sansa knew her athletic boyfriend would practice football. He’d spend at most three hours doing stuns and drills their coach would scream in command. She never lingers long because her time baking under the afternoon heat and sweating profusely define wasting her energy in what should be spent for studying. A small exemption presents itself as Sansa stays a little bit longer after observing Jonin the football uniform and his chestnut locks messy and somehow enthralling to run her fingers through.

 

One afternoon, Sansa seated herself on the lowest metallic bench and blankly stared as the men pushed against dummies, jogs in groups, and other things she doesn’t care about for some sport they seem to worship. Her interest only peaked at seeing Jon. The timid boy she knew at a young age morphed into a man with a physique so perfect and continually reminded her of that when he executed the jumps and practice games with the rest of the team.

 

Sansa ought to be focused with Harry, in the way his hair looked like an ethereal halo when the sun shines in it; his eyes pleasantly gleaming like a small lake in summer. But she spent the entire time convincing herself Jon isn’t _that_ attractive when sweat slides down on the slope of his nose and sometimes, trails down on his chin and pools on his shirt. He is loud when he works out with his grunts and groans that scratch up his throat and his face contorted in dedication to the game. And she definitely didn’t feel the sun burning her skin because something else is the cause of that.

 

 

He caught up with her once when the Tarly was talking with their coach and other guys Sansa recognized. “So the princess deigns herself in seeing us practice, huh?” Jon taunted with a smirk.

 

Her throat is tight because each swipe of Jon’s hand on his sweat-glistened face, his bicep makes itself known, corded of muscles underneath the glowing skin he received from all the hours practicing. She turns away, hands clenched, and her breathing deepened as though she physically followed their practice.

 

Sansa snaps out of her thoughts when her phone rang. She furrowed her eyebrows and fished out to see her best friend calling. “Yes?” She answers in hesitance. From this proximity, she can already hear the coaches screaming orders and the sounds of unison jogging padding on the dirt floor.

 

_You have got to go to the clinic. Asap._

 

“I beg your pardon?” She says in utmost perplexity. What game is her best friend playing at?

 

_I visited the gallery because I wanted to talk about the next exhibition. But when I passed by the field, there was a rumbling. I personally saw Jon and Tarly rolling in the dirt and throwing punches. The team split in two in trying to hold them off and not beat each other bloody. I heard they were rushed to the clinic! Hurry!_

 

She could barely remember the ending the call. She stared down on the cobbled stone path she stood at, her pastel shoes matching her loose flowery blouse and dark jeans. Fury burned a path in her veins as she matched down to the clinic. Since athletes are prone to injuries, the principal saw it fit to place the clinic a few hundred feet to the right of the football field.

 

Her worry and shame evaporated as she pushed open the double doors of the clinic. The smell of alcohol invaded her senses and she glowered at the sight of tall cream curtains around the stiff bed.  She caught a pair of strong legs dangling from a nearby bed, squinting her eyes, it was a familiar pair of azure Nike shoes.

 

The sight of Jon’s face, littered with cuts, his cheeks smeared with dirt, catalysed her heart to stop in beats. His usual dri-fit shirt wasn’t on his back as his right hand grasps and ice pack and settles it on his rippled stomach. It dimly occurs to her this is the first time she has seen him shirtless. Most of her attention worriedly roves over his body covered in bruises because of her.

There was no doubt for the reasons behind this rumble. It’s all Sansa’s doing because she was weak.

 

“ _Jon.”_ She seethes and the nurse attending to him slips away, knowing full-well what a woman’s rage could do damage far more than what she could heal. Sansa projected a fury that is rare and sufficient to make Jon squirm on the bed, as big and athletic he maybe being the other end of the inflamed point is an unwelcoming notion. Even though his uneasiness slipped for a moment, Sansa caught his actions without effort.

 

He barely flinched at her irate voice. An ease smile looped his mouth with a surfacing bruise on the corner of it. “Hey, love.” He greets as though this was normal. But, she would argue, their situation even before the men fighting is beyond normal.

 

“What on _Earth_ were you thinking?” Each word pushed out of her pink lips were soft enough but they curled in the air, becoming sharper and gaining more edges until they could add the cuts on his arms.

 

 Anger, Father once said, is derailing one’s reasoning. This is why people tend to act on impulse when red ignites their blood. You must behave accordingly and not on the initial reaction. He once counselled her when she was young and threw a fit when they had to attend galas; her mind too young to understand the intricacies this event holds for people of society.

Yet that particular lesson is lost on her as she glowers at Jon, her heart racing, and the nails of her fingers biting into her palm until red marks were felt. His nonchalance bothered her even more. _How can you be so relaxed? I can barely breathe because I’m so worried, mad, and mostly worried about your well-being._

 

He shrugged. “I wasn’t thinking. I saw Harry step out of the locker room, remembered what’s happening, and the next thing I knew, Grenn was pulling me off of that fucker and my knuckles are bloodied.” His voice was hard and grim. It’s even more obvious on how he isn’t apologetic of his actions. The coil on his jaw compressed in annoyance and his sky eyes darkened. “I don’t regret it one bit, princess. I could’ve done more damage to his face if my friends weren’t there.”

 

Being displeased with him is replaced with a shiver of dread, his posture and face grim and perhaps his mind is darker than his frown. “But look at you, you got hurt.” Sansa observed in a hushed tone. She stepped closer, his knees loosely encasing her waist.

 

She eyed a tiny cut on his jaw and without a thought, which isn’t her standard procedure, to be _near_ him, her fingers lightly danced on the stubble almost covering his injury. Her mouth quirked at recalling the first time she has seen a boy her age have facial hair. It endlessly enthralled her in seeing Jon have shadow of a beard around his mouth.

 

The tips of her fingers stopped at the very edge of his mouth. Her eyes crawled back up his face to behold the sight of Jon being breathless even though he hasn’t done anything physical. The air around them crackled if they could sense a world outside of the other’s gaze.

 

“You should see your boyfriend, doll. I got a few good swings at him.” Jon proclaimed. He leaned back on one arm, the sunlight through the windows beside them spilled on his skin and made him to appear tanner. “Why are you here? Surely your golden boy is at the nearest hospital.” The question is thrown out but the smirking ass knew the answer, and he knows that she knows the answer.

 

Sansa’s tongue felt dry in her mouth. Common sense didn’t follow her as she angrily arrived at the clinic. Her mind is clouded with ire. But why? She ignored the trembling of her hands at seeing Jon getting hurt because of her. “I thought he’d be here.” She quietly answered.

 

Jon tilted his head to the side. “He didn’t text you? Didn’t inform his girlfriend he got into a fight with his teammate?” He taunted more questions and slowly sat up. One of his knees tapped her waist and Sansa took it, or interpreted it to her liking, as wanting to inch closer which she did.

 

They were eye level now, Sansa thought in that unnerving reaction she always has with Jon. In any other situation, she would’ve fled this very dilemma. She should go find Harry and comfort _him._ And not stay with this teasing football player who can’t stop his dazzling eyes from being her utter distraction.

 

Sansa did one of the things she thought she’d never do; she hugged the shirtless Jon. Her arms went around his neck, warm and covered in a thin layer of sweat but she didn’t mind. Her nose is buried where his shoulder and neck meet and she closed her eyes. Faintly, she can feel her body quivering in anxiety once more, at the reality of Jon carrying these hurts because of her. His scent, though heated from the sun, is the utmost comforting thing she has known.

 

Jon’ right hand dropped the ice pack and joined his left in circling tight against him. Tingles danced in her nerves at feeling his deep inhales on her neck. One of his hands rubbed motions on her back and she felt each stroke of it through the thin fabric of her blouse. Silence bubbles them away from the world, from the nurses watching them with a look that promised confidentiality of their moment is forgotten.

 

“I, I thought he hurt so much worse than this. I, I imagined your nose broken, your eye shut out, you’d have internal bleeding…” Sansa rambled on and on about the nonsense anxious assumptions that bubbled in her mind. She clenched her eyes and her grip tightened even more; an action Jon clearly enjoyed because they hugged so snug she was lifted off the ground for a moment or two.

 

Maybe this prolonged embrace, their faces hidden from the world as they savour this moment is because they were deprived of this sort of intimacy when they were young. The accumulated hesitance and downright stubbornness melted away at the notion of Jon sporting injuries. Their hug could’ve lasted a century and the pair wouldn’t notice the years passing by.

 

“Shh, doll I’m all right now. And did you honestly think your precious boyfriend would do any real damage to me?” Jon gently pulled away and cupped her cheek. It felt cold with the ice pack sitting on his palm for nearly an hour.

Sansa leans her head on his palm and gives a coy smile. “Thank you, Jon.” She said, her exhale of words tickling his wrist as he swiped his thumb on her cheek, basking in the softness of her.

 

 _Thank you for punching Harry when I couldn’t even breakup with him.  Thank you for looking out for me in your own way._ “Did you break his nose though? His mother brags of having symmetrical noses in their family.” She says with a small laugh tacking the end of her words.

 

Jon laughs. His hands drop to his knees but his fingers play with the back of her thighs; not that she minded, his abstract patterns are welcoming. “Really now? Well I’m glad of that because I certainly broke one of their family jewels.” He jested but she knew the truth in it. He badly hurt Harry almost in a way that he hurt her. “Can I ask you a question though?” He requested.

 

Seeing as how he punched Harry probably multiple of times, Sansa conceded.

 

“Why would you stay with someone who doesn’t exert as much effort as you do? You deserve the absolute best, princess.” Jon murmured; his honestly shrugs off the usual pompous game they always play, hide your feelings and smile sweeter. He wasn’t smiling. His hands still daringly linger on the back of her thighs as though he means to plop her on his lap.

 

 _What is the best for me? You?_ She wondered, her hands rested lightly on his thighs, those powerful muscles twitched as her palms flattened on his pants. They both are in this closeness her parents would forbid her to do with boys who aren’t her boyfriend. But, his warmth of body and words are much cosier than anything else she has known with the blond.

 

And with luck on the other side of them, Jon knew what her traitorous thoughts are as he leaned closer, smirking as she smiled as well. _Finally,_ their gazes could’ve screamed out as the pull becomes too strong to resist, almost snapping at the intensity.

 

“Hey, Jon I got you Dr. Pepper!” Sam Taryl’s voice boomed by the doorway and the thud of the door against the wall frightened Sansa for a moment. He is accompanied with Pyp, the amiable football player and Val on his right. Their faces lit up in curiosity with the sight they behold.

 

She faintly heard the nurses move away from their anticipated stances, shuffling around the room, having no more distractions from doing their jobs. The elder women looked… disappointed?

 

Sansa backed away from Jon, her face as crimson as Val’s lipstick. She glanced at Jon and felt her skin prickle at the intensity of his stare. Before she could flee with a feeble excuse, the redhead beauty materialized at her side.

 

Val smiled though Sansa suspected it wasn’t friendliness but of knowing something and her notion is a reality now. “Hi, Sansa.” She greets. “It’s so nice of you to visit our boy here.” She nonchalantly states.

 

She stiffly bobs her head. “I, I thought Harry would be here.” She blurted out, barely maintaining eye contact with any of them.

 

“No, uh, he was brought to St. Matthews in town.” Sam informed her, suspicion as to why the Pyp and Val are horribly hiding their triumphant grins.

 

Pyp tossed the cold can to Jon who effortlessly caught it. “We’d bring you ice cream but your throat isn’t what’s hurtin’.” He laughs.

 

“Thanks for accompanying our irrational friend here.” Sam says tactfully. He has the same look of the other two; knowing but hesitant in voicing it out.

 

Sansa nods. She eyes Jon who, she realized hasn’t stray his stare from her. “He’s a troublesome man.” She agrees. She desperately wanted to flee away from the scene, away from Jon’s friends who knew more of their situation than herself, or even miles away from his glinting eyes that reminded her of a calming morning fog.

 

“You ought to keep that man on a leash when he’s angry.” She mindlessly added and dearly wanted to hide the words under her tongue by the way his friends laughed and Jon. Her offhanded statement had an odd effect of his eyes darkening and created an impression he would _pounce_ on her.

 

 _He wouldn’t, not now and not ever. You’re broken and he doesn’t care._ She recited in her mind despite the red clear against her face.

 

 _If he doesn’t really care, why is he bruised and in a clinic?_ A speculative and hopeful voice wormed in her thoughts with a chortle. And here she thought the years of knowing the playfulness of Jon would extinguish the childish dreams she once had for them. Now though, her fantasies were within reach she could almost taste the glitter on her tongue; much to her chagrin.

 

 One look at the smug Jon and she caught his message; a private one not even his nosy friends would decipher. A swell of pride was felt in her chest. She leaves the clinic with her head high in the air yet the question haunts her. His smile lingers in her mind.

 

_Are we both happy that my tormentor is severely hurt?_

 


	5. Soft Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And perhaps that is what entices her further to want, to yearn, because it is her choice.

Sansa recalls the precise time in her life wherein she knew a future is possible. This preferred eventuality is of her doing, her parents didn’t taint it with their own wants for her; the eldest daughter made of gracefulness, elegance, and moulded in a manner any man would want to bend their knees to for marriage. Her tiny, yet it felt so vast in her dreams so _real,_ dreams are her own creation. And perhaps that is what entices her further to want, to yearn, because it is her choice. No one played her young mind to this twisted road, none but her _own_ notions.

 

She was around seventeen, the recital she performed in has ended and she walked in line with the other ballerinas. The hallway that leads to their joint dressing rooms is arrow so they form two lines; some of her companions quietly giggled with high pitched innocence and girlish tones of talks, boys most like. She had two nameless girls flanked at her sides and she’s engaged in their conversation as any polite girl would do. The only thing Sansa knew about the girls is that their fathers are deep in pockets, empires stretching to Europe and further still in the East. It was no coincidence she is letting them speak of sparkle shoes to her and for her to actively contribute in this conversation.

 

“Love!”

 

With one word, she separates herself from the rest of her peers in ballet and stops in her tracts. She tries not to smile at the approaching boy with a huge bouquet arrangement kept close to his chest it nearly obscured his face. Mother had informed Sansa that Jon and his family will be attending, stating that Lyanna loved the arts and unfortunately drags her darling son through countless of recitals, art exhibitions, and museum tours.

 

She knew Jon would be here but the wings of enormous butterflies brushed on her insides in delight of the sight before her. “Jon.” She greeted in an aloof tone, to blanket how giddy she is for the display of flowers. “Fancy seeing you here.”

 

He rolled those smoky grey eyes. “Mother likes to see you dance. She said it reminded her of a prettier time. Whatever in the Seven that means!” He exclaimed with a chuckle. He extended his arms and gave her the bouquet of roses. It wasn’t just red roses, there were hydrangeas, forget-me-nots, littering the edges of the arrangement. She noticed that shifted to the colour red and had the usual red roses and stunning tulips.

 

 _My hair and eyes, the colours are very close to my red hair and my blue eyes._ She realized with a jolt. “My, Lyanna outdid herself this time. I should thank her for this. And for you, her little messenger boy.” She said in gratitude. She pointedly ignored how her peers of ballet are curiously peeking at them with teasing eyes and bright smiles. But she knew Jon only meant to follow his mother’s bidding. He probably doesn’t even _know_ the names of the flowers unlike her. The more she stares at the flowers, the more she pondered on how long it took to find such colours that truly fit in the likeness of her hair and eyes.

 

“Ah, Mother did help me too much I’m afraid.” Jon admitted rather casually as though to assuage Sansa’s attention from what he doesn’t say. He cards his hand through his curls and Sansa wonders if that was his other plan to distract her.

 

 _He made this bouquet for me? What a length in efforts for me?_ Sansa speculates. If he doesn’t say what he _means_ then why should she? “Thank you anyway for these lovely tokens, Jon. Almost makes me tolerate ballet just for your flowers.” She replies, calm and betrays the heady feeling in her veins.

 

 _This_ is ballet, Sansa thinks, a dance void of words and they always execute ballonnés much better than she could do on any stage. And when he smiles like that, eye crinkles and his white teeth shine, she knew the dance is starting once more.

 

He laughed at what he heard. “What is a dance in frilly skirts and cotton candy tights if not for the appreciation afterwards? You deserve those flowers, Stark.” He jested. _You deserve to be appreciated;_ he wanted to say but in time, she will know. It was only then did she take note of his classic suit of black and white; the outfit justly fitting to his body and giving hints of the muscles in his biceps and how toned he is.

 

Jeyne has informed her, not that Sansa asked for information but she isn’t about to be impolite and deny her friend a space to speak her gossip. Apparently, Jon has been practicing with his football team and is a very willing participant in the rough training routes their athletes undergo. Sansa is not sure how she extracted that news since Jon studies at an all boy school leagues away from theirs but it couldn’t be didn’t how comely he is at that moment.

 

“At this rate, if you continue on giving me flowers, I’ll actually perform with gusto.” Sansa banters in return. Every single time she stands in front of those suited men and women who dons glamour with diamonds and silk, she only needs to gaze at Jon for her heart to be in ease.

 

Dimly, Sansa knows how from where they sit in the exclusive sections, how she blends in with the other performers. That Jon is focusing on some _other_ girl rather than herself, that there are other girls like her; innocent, pristine, and perfect with their extensive wealth and polite words on their pink tongues. But the gleam in his eyes as they stand so close, Sansa wants that look directed at her (and only her, a wormy little voice demanded) for as long as time permits.

 

_I want Jon to constantly shower me with flowers and dazzling smiles all the time. I want to want him._

 

Later, she learns it wasn’t time that was needed but defining actions.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

It was later on, much so, that Harry had called her. He calmly reported to her what she already knows, more than he did in that moment. She feigned concern hearing how ruthless Jon was to him. In playing the worried girlfriend, she dutifully asked the state of his well-being and to make sure her voice was light and genuine. _You deserve every single punch he threw at your pretty face._

 

Sansa sat down on a random bench in the quad, diligently listen at her boyfriend (she grits her teeth at that thought) reminiscence the brawl between Jon and him. he spoke in themes of complete bafflement and frustration.

 

“Anyways, I will visit your place tonight darling. I miss you.” He whispered into the conversation, soft and caring in the numerous ways she had wanted him to do.

 

Sansa stiffened, her free hand curling on her knee in a pressure there was a red mark when she flattened her palm. “I miss you too, my love.” _I missed the old you. I’m still me but you’ve changed._

 

“Oh and be sure to cook that roast chicken that I love so much!  I have to go now.” Harry says and hangs up before Sansa registers the flare of ire in her.

 

She remains on the bench, crossed legs, and peers out in the busy scene of their college campus. Students of varying categories are roaming the vast field; holding hands, studying with books and notebooks surrounding them, people playing Frisbee. They were happy, or at least they were pretending to be, and she wanted that emotion for so long.

 

 _Jon,_ a whisper rolled in like morning fog. She could be happy with Jon.

 

When she returns to the apartment, she sees the sofa pushed back noticeably a few feet from its original position. She bit back a smile in recalling it was Jon who volunteered when she only mentioned that she moved in with her best friend. Her aforementioned best friend is currently sprawled on the living room floor, with a canvas in front of her, and her invaluable collection of paints forming a loose circle. Her brushes are scattered around though Sansa knows how the brunette would be able to distinguish the identical brushes apart.

 

“Harry is coming over tonight.” Sansa states as she drops her bag on a nearby chair.

 

Margaery scoffs her concentration on the art work hasn’t directed somewhere else. “That’s real smart of you, little love, because we know our neighbourhood far better than his. So if we murder his cheating ass, we can hide his body more efficiently.” She nonchalantly quips, and still she hadn’t faced Sansa. And she can’t see the amused smile Sansa wore.

 

In any other occasion, she would’ve chastised Margaery in her bluntness but not tonight. Sansa wondered to the kitchen and fetched two bottles of sparkling water. She handed one to Margaery who only now saw the smirk so coyly playing on her pink lips.

 

The artist leaned and relaxed against the back of their three year old sofa. She accepted the water bottle with narrowed eyes. “What are you scheming in your pretty head, Stark?” She demanded.

 

Sansa plopped down on the chair where her bag is. She gingerly sips on the water, letting Margaery speculate until the artist kicked her shin. She pouts and sighs in a dramatic manner. “I am planning the inevitable.” She simply answered. She eyed Margaery to which her best friend grinned proudly.

 

“Vengeance is sweet but a woman’s cold fury is sweeter.” The brunette sang as she rose from her spot. Her brother’s old college shirt is spotted with different colours and smeared in varying strokes that Sansa couldn’t see the logo of the football team he played on. She dropped a kiss on Sansa’s cheek and repeated her statement as she wandered to the kitchen.

 

Harry knocked on the door precisely the time he promised. He held a grand display of red roses, expensive looking and luxurious down to the golden wrapper that held them. “For you, darling.” He purrs and kisses her cheek.

 

Sansa grins, not that the flowers. Margaery told her, in fury, that he constantly visits her grandmother’s flower shop and orders the pre-arranged setting. She also slipped and said at times, those flowers aren’t even for _her_ but for the other women he has. No, Sansa beams at how at this light, she could clearly see the shallow cuts, forming bruises, and the cut in his lip he has harboured from the fight with Jon. As she places the flowers in a crystalline vase, she thanks Jon a thousand times over.

 

“Where is Margaery?” Harry hums, scanning the living room with his hands behind his back.

 

 _I dragged her away so she wouldn’t bloody the snow fur carpet Arya bought for me two Christmas ago._ “Oh, she’s visiting her grandmother.” Sansa chooses to answer. She motions for him to enter the kitchen. And there, she prepared his request favourite dish. There was a bottle of Arbor Gold, plates and utensils arranged that shined under the kitchen lights. Done in perfection so there wouldn’t be any suspicious from the muscle head.

 

Harry sat down as she did. He poured them both the wine and sliced the chicken. It gave away under the knife like butter and he also scooped up portions of the salad onto their plates. “Until now, I can’t fathom on why Snow would go all ballistic on me like that.” He said, slowly venturing into his own doom.

 

Sansa sat like she’s dining with royalty. “Jon functions on reasons not impulses.” She answers back, gingerly sipping on her glass of wine. She nibbles on her salad, fully noting how Harry is glancing at her with questions. _He reasoned with his fists more like._

 

“You’re defending him? He gave me fucking bruises on my ribs that it _hurt_ breathing for over an hour. I only didn’t tell you to come at the hospital because I didn’t want to see you cry.” Harry said in that patronizing tone Sansa has grown used to. The cuts and dark spots look clearer in this angle, much redder but less than what Sansa expected. She assumed Harry _broke_ his ribs not only hurt from it.

 

 _If I went, I would’ve laughed not weep, my love._ “I’m just saying from what I know of the man.” Sansa flippantly answers in a tone that she noted how Harry’s hands clenched the knife and fork. The chicken she cooked was exquisite, zesty and had the balanced flavour of lemon in her mouth. She took a strip of flesh and joined in with the salad on her spoon and ate it with delight.

 

“Well _that man_ is a fucking lunatic. I’ll gladly report him to our dean. Father is a beloved sponsor, his voice will be heard in this debacle.” Harry grumbled; chewing on his chicken leg and missing the frown on his girlfriend’s face. “I don’t even know why your family is so close with his. He and his mum are definitely outsiders from our inner circle. I mean the only reason why he’s the second in our class is because rumour has it, and he’s sleeping with Ms Targaryen.” He laughs, amused with himself. “I’ve seen them talk after class. Perhaps it’s true!”

 

Sansa slammed down her fork with ardent force the candles, at the centre of the linen clothed table, trembled in her fury. Her jaw is clenched; her eyes bright and resembled the sky before a great storm. She stared at her boyfriend in cold anger, much worse than the fiery ones burning the target’s skin. It sends chill down one’s spine, freezing anything but the ice in her eyes and Sansa’s fingers dug deep in her palms.

 

Harry straightened on his seat. “Oh, what, will you _defend_ him now? I don’t care what you think, he’s a psycho and you should stay away from him. He doesn’t function on reasons, Sans. He’s clinically insane.” He snarled and pointed the knife at her. His voice sharper than the utensil he held.

 

But that didn’t scare her. Perhaps in a different time and topic, she might’ve whimpered and beg him to lower the knife. But not now, not when steel is in her bones and anger lit her veins in magma.

 

“How about we discuss on _why_ he acted so stupidly? Like I said, he acts on reasons and he has them.” Sansa’s voice came in a whip; lashing at his skin it would’ve shown red lines on his skin. She retrieved a long folder underneath the table and threw it down on the table. “He had a bloody reason on why he beat you so.” She said in a mocking tone that Harry’s face morphed into one of ire.

 

He opened the folder and the colour drained from his face so quick Sansa thought he’d faint. His eyes widened as he scanned each photograph, evidences of him with numerous women that are not his girlfriend; the woman across of him smug and triumphant as she sipped on her wine. “Where-where did he get this? It’s fake.” He feebly reasoned and laid the evidences back on the table.

 

Sansa laughed cruelly, a judge dismissing the convicted defence because the gavel is so close to hitting the wood, sentencing him to prison. “I’ve been gathering these for _months,_ sweet love. Jon found out and he got livid the moment he saw you.” She supplied the missing piece. Seeing as how Harry would never assume Sansa to being a master of any game, of being anything greater than a mere pawn for men to play with, and the surprise on his face is sweeter than Christmas.

 

“Are you cheating on me with that-that lunatic?” Harry gritted out as he threw down his fork and knife on the floor, leaving it to noisily clatter and ring in the tensed air between them.

 

“Does that matter when you’ve been sleeping around for half a year?” Sansa nearly screamed but she was mindful of the people living around them, oblivious and near sleeping on their beds. She’s envious of them. “I guess I _am_ defending Jon. He is a better man than you will ever be.” Her voice dipped in menace, thorns in every space of word and coated them with spikes.

“How dare you say that! Jon is an ass-“

 

“How dare you sit there and try to turn the table?” Sansa angrily demanded and fisted her hands on her side. “I love and I love you. Throughout the years we’ve been together, even when you humiliated me, I loved you.  Because I thought you were perfect; you’re the guy my parents adore. You were the type of person-or rather the idea of a person- I have dreamt of since I was young! I loved you so much it blinded me.” She inhaled a deep breath, slowly rising from her seat. So in this angle, she has to look down on him, in the same manner he has for the past months. “You get your lying, cheating, and damn conniving ass out of my apartment.”

 

“You want to know why I slept with those women?” Harry taunted as he too stood up, their faces grim with the light of orange form the candles washing over their faces. “It’s because dating you was a pain in my ass. Oh, precious Sansa Stark is a princess and everyone likes loves her. Well I didn’t like the pressure of it all; my parents pushed me into this relationship and I fell for their trap, for how pretty you are.”

 

Sansa bit the inside of her cheek so hard the taste of iron filled her mouth. Her hands fisted the linen cloth too tightly. “Get out you monster.” She whispered. She glowered at him, fiercer than she would’ve assumed because there was a swift look of fear in his eyes.

 

He slammed the door exceedingly hard the framed picture of an oiled fruit basket shattered on the floor.

But Sansa didn’t mind. She plopped down on the sofa then curled up in the bundles of knitted blanket. She sobbed, wailed, and screamed into a pillow. Her throat hurt, everything ached. Rivers streamed down on her face, leaking from her watery blue eyes, and her mouth filled with blood and cries tasted bitter and freedom. The sounds of anguish were louder in the dead of night but she made sure she didn’t disturb anyone.

 

In the next morning, Margaery entered the apartment and was a witness to the aftermath of a disastrous relationship. Sansa, her face glistened in shed tears, her mouth twisted in the saddest of frowns, and her body curled tight like a ball.

 

She bent down and kissed the redhead on the brow. “You’re free now, Sans. It doesn’t feel like that now or for a long time, but you will. And when you do the snow will melt in the light of your smile.” She whispered against her head and dropped a kiss there. She decided to make a grand breakfast for her best friend, determined to get her though everything in any way she can.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

_Two Years Later….._

 

Sansa asked Arya to eat brunch with her.

 

The assumption that these two sisters would have a drift between them, continents in birth but the people are grievously wrong. The freshman chose a café, close to Columbia, an alma mater of their father. It was a French themed establishment with pale blue chairs and frilled cloth tables. Scents of bread, wine, and freshly baked desserts sweetly invade their senses.

 

“How’s everything?” Sansa questioned as the waiter filled their glasses with iced tea.

 

The brunette shrugged. Her mane of cinnamon locks are tied in a messy bun, she wore a ratty hoodie with ripped jeans but her face is radiant. “The dorm I settled in is really nice. Gendry is helping me settle in.” She casually mentioned but the stark red on her face is a statement of their own.

 

She knows how shy and reluctant her little sister is to exposing details pertaining to this area, to the junior that appears to be so important to her. She lets it slide, only discussing further if Arya is ready.

 

“How are you? Feeling flabbergasted in getting to Harvard law school?” Arya teased with a giggle.

Not too long before graduation, she has received an acceptance letter indicating her assured spot in her dream school for her desired occupation. She couldn’t be happier in a long time. All week, she was smiles, ringing giggles, and all around excessive positive energy.

“Wonderful, our semester is to start soon.” Sansa answered, forking through her salad and taking bites of the apple.

The college student smirked as she twisted her pasta around her fork and ate, letting the question hang in her mouth for a few seconds. “Bran told me the most peculiar news. She told me your flat mate is Jon; that you and him conspired with one another and bought an apartment for yourselves? How long have you been living with Jonathan? ” She hummed in a taunting tone and the satisfaction is almost too much to bear.

 

In an instant upon hearing the fact, her face bloomed in heat. She simpered, much to Arya’s amusement as she giggled. The plan wasn’t anything romantic, it is sound and logical. If the woman across of her heard this, she’d only roll her eyes. But it’s true because since the breakup with Harry, he has kept his distance with his constant physical touches and wasn’t in the same way affectionate. She understood of course because she was left an utter mess of emotions and tears for months and months. That whatever the pink elephant is, lurking in every corner of the room they’re in, Sansa needed time alone to breathe and get to know herself better.

 

Jon knew that without even hearing from her. And she loves that about him.

 

“We’ve only been flat mates for a few months now. And we share the responsibilities of managing a home.” Sansa filled in the brief view of her new home. Jon was in charge of their meals, whether it be takeout or homemade, and the shifts for dishes and laundry shifts between them. They have a sit down for the bills, debating and contributing for their rent as well. It was an exercise of responsibility, Father said, eyes darting around with a touch of discomfort as any father would have in seeing his child so grown up.

 

Arya takes a bite from her salad and bobs her head. “Alright but what if he or you have ah, nightly company?” She inquires with slyness.

 

Her ears and cheeks felt hotter. Sansa warned Jon of the exact same thing. On the very first day after settling in, she placed down a box of her shoes and pointedly told Jon of their policies.

 

He, in return, merely shrugged. “This is a notably hypothetical situation at this point. But to appease you, as I always try to strive, I’ll sleep at their place. I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable or worse, you’ll see it as an obligation to have those small horrid talks with them.” He answered with a flashing smile and volunteered to bring up the rest of her clothing locked in large rectangular suit cases.

 

“Arya, don’t you have more interesting things to ask your sister than questions of my household?”Sansa quietly demanded, shyly because she lowered her eyes and simpered.

 

“Fine. Tell me when in the Old Gods and New will you and Johnny boy get together? Because I know you’re happier than you’ve been when that nitwit was unfairly absorbing all your happiness away.” The freshman blatantly asked, in a voice that felt as though they were merely talking of the weather.

Sansa stared at her sister in muted horror. She hadn’t thought of that in a long time. Well, occasionally she does but she is quick to push those enticing thoughts away because her heart skips beats and dreams are tasted on her tongue.

 

“I am happy, aren’t I? Jon makes me happy too.” She admitted into the air, finally hearing the truth in her words.

 

“There you have it! I can hear the wedding bells ringing and Margaery is the one frantically pulling the rope!” Arya exclaimed and loudly clapped her hands until one of the staffs approached her, telling her to not do that. She scoffed. “Um, good sir if your sister who has been through the shittiest relationship will finally end up with a good man and will get laid, won’t you be glad?” She ignored the stupefaction on the waiter’s face and lifted her glass and they clinked together.

 

“To happiness.” Arya said.

 

 _To Jon,_ she thought.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Later that evening, Jon and Sansa are sitting side by side on the dining room table. On the smooth oak surface, a brochure of furniture is displayed, of types and prices. They have been trying to decide on which sofa to buy for the past week now.

Neither would say it. Or would even express these thoughts to themselves but an atmosphere of profound comfort hangs around them in their apartment, an air of nonchalance that feels as though they have been living with each other for quite some times. Their morning routines heavily revolved around one another, unbeknownst that they have relied on each other in ways Sansa and Jon would rather not dwell in. Lest hope (the damning and enticing aspect of love) burns brighter in their chest, filling their hearts with such light that only shines when they're close.

Much to their friends' frustration, there hadn't been any major developments in their hopeless case. In Jon's perspective, Sansa has been through quite enough, exceedingly so, that she is wary of relationships. With this in his mind, he keeps away, pours all his affections, his yearnings in a jar of a heart but glass shatters and it'll only hurt himself in the process. Sansa, on the other hand, is tired of dancing int he same reluctant tones of their song. She  _wants_ and for once, she knows how the object of her affections is the truest form of love there could be. Oh, the fantasies she's had as a child, of some young prince to sweep her up and live in some castle. Jon is the farthest choice of a prince, impulsive, dense to reason at times, sharp tongued.... passionate, kind, and protective. Well, she likes to think a steel crown would fit him better than a fancy bejeweled golden crown. And their apartment is a castle if she sees it that way.  

The Chinese takeout Jon has bought for them is respectively on their sides, half-eaten but still warm. Their newly arranged apartment missed one vital piece; in the living room a place where their friends could lounge on and for their movie marathons to be comfortable with something to lean on.

Jon flipped to another page, his hand held chopsticks and his face is of utter focus. “Damn, I didn’t think it’d be this hard. I’ve seen like a million sofas and I haven’t blinked an eye but now? I-we can’t decide.” He complained with a dry chuckle. ”Wait, what about this one?” He tapped a photo of a wide sofa in the colour of spruce blue.

 

Sansa turned her head, to reply with sarcasm but the words are stuck in her throat at the sight she’s blessed with. Before living with him, it is blue moon rare that they sit together like this, so close because usually, they are surrounded by family and friends. Now, it is only them and Sansa revels in their privacy, in their own bubble of silence rather than some noisy family gathering or a boring lecture. 

 

His side profile features a handful of her beloved flat mate: the point on his chin, the curve on his nose, his curls looking softer in the light, his lips pinker and more tempting. His face is scrunched in concentration to find a fitting piece for their flat, insisting it has to be like the “vibe” she has set. For him, with how she arranged and decided the colours of their pillows, bed sheets, and even the formation of furniture have created an aura that they must commit to.

 

“Jon, I’m still in love with you.” Sansa blurted out, in the heat of her day dreams. Her eyes widened in seeing Jon snap his neck to her so swiftly she feared he’d pop a bone somewhere. She gulped down the forming knot, knowing how this moment has been known to happen since Harry walked out on her, since the kiss in New Years.

 

For a terrible moment, Jon didn’t respond, only gazing at her with increasing shock. Did she speak too soon or too late? Is she seeing someone else? Has he fallen out of love with her? These thoughts churned and swam in her thoughts as her hands fidgeted with the ends of her shirt. It wasn’t technically hers since she made a habit to borrow Jon’s old college and high school shirts. He doesn’t mind. In fact, she likes to think Jon _likes_ the picture of her in his shirts as she also wears mid-thigh cotton shorts.

 

With a shaking hand, she covered his large hand with her smaller one. “I have loved you far more than I will ever acknowledge. And-and I understand if you don’t feel the same because it’s been a while since I’ve dated but please know that I am yours and only yours. I have been since I was seventeen even when I didn’t know it.” She ardently whispered, lifting his hand and pressed tiny, a million even, butterfly kisses without looking away from the fragile expression on his face.

 

The game of pretend, of acting on great hesitance has melted the barrier between them. Leaving both so terribly exposed and it was a new and uncomfortable experience to be emotionally bare to someone. But Jon isn’t just someone, he’s Jon. _My Jon,_ Sansa thinks.

 

Jon turns on his seat, his one leg encasing her to him. He too kissed her knuckles and held them to his chest. “I do _not_ deserve you, no one does. You’re too perfect that sometimes my eyes hurt just looking at you, at my love.” He whispers reverently, leaning forward to chastely kissing her cheek. “You deserve someone who appreciates you, someone who’d grovel in the dust just to get one small smile on you. I’m shameless when it comes to how far I’d go to worship you, so I’m your guy. I’d do anything to keep you happy, hell if you said to put Harry in a coma right now, I’d honestly would. I’d do anything for you and if you want me to love you, then I’ll do my best and give you my best.”

 

Tears shone in her eyes. She extracted her hands form him and lurched forward for an embrace. She dug her face into the curve of his neck, getting drunk on the scent of his cologne, of the feel of him against her. His warm hands roam her back, to the nape of her neck, and tightened her to him as though he means to glue them together. Good, she thinks and wound her arms tighter on Jon’s neck. She won’t ever let go of this man.

 

“I’m sorry to break our emotional cathartic moment but are you only professing your love to me because you hate my choices of sofa?” Jon questioned on her clothed shoulder, dropping a kiss there and slowly pulling back. He smiles, brightly and Sansa adores how there were crinkles beside his eyes.  

 

“I love you despite your horrible taste in furniture.” Sansa mumbled with a giggle. “But since I’ve chosen everything else in this room, I’ll let you have this one.” She sighs as though it was difficult to allow Jon in purchasing this sofa. It wasn’t in any way hard.

 

Jon’s smile widened and he must’ve seen how puzzled she is because he pressed a tiny kiss on the tip of her nose. He holds her as though she is an angel, descending down to Earth to inspect the humans only to find a dark haired boy with a genuine heart and a smile so illuminating Heaven can be seen in it.

 

“You chose me, you said so yourself. And besides from buying that ugly sofa, which we will because I’ve grown to to like the image, I’ll choose you. In any sense, in any life, I will always return to you, be with you, love you.” He breathed in disbelief, retaining that tone as though dragons have suddenly existed. His breaths were baited and he views her like his daydream, so real, is still his own creation and not of something so true and in their reality.

 

Those scaled creatures might have never existed but this love that continually flows between them is the realest thing Sansa has ever known.

  
"This is real." Sansa uttered in awe. _Please don't let this be a dream. Please don't wake me up if  this isn't true._ She cupped his bearded cheeks on her small hands and leaned forward, brushing her nose against his, making them both laugh. "Gods, you idiot I love you so much." She declared before embracing him tight, her arms circling on his broad shoulders, her nose digging into the curve of his neck and his scent infiltrating her senses.

Jon responds in equal ardent enthusiasm as he wounds his arms on her waist, dragging her closer. He peppered kisses on her cheek down to her alabaster throat in tiny, a thousand perhaps, kisses. "A dream come true, I must say." He mutters before pulling away. Not that there was much distance for Sansa clutched at his shoulders, nails digging, as a silent warning. He laughs at the fierce expression she wore that he too well understood.  _Don't you dare move away from me, Snow._  

 

"I'm here, love. I'm always here with you. Anywhere you go, you bet your cute ass I'll be at your side." Jon said in conviction. To prove the truth in his words, he leans in and captures her mouth in a fervent kiss, the brochure long forgotten. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope y'all enjoyed this ALTERNATIVE ending. comments and kudos are genuinely appreciated


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